


In a Hand-basket

by elerimc



Category: Supernatural, Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Apocalypse, Challenge Response, Community: apocalyptothon, Demons, Drama, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-13
Updated: 2011-08-13
Packaged: 2017-10-22 14:19:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 45,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/238950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elerimc/pseuds/elerimc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say when one door closes another is opened.  99.99% of the time that's a good thing.  The other .01%?  Sometimes that's the end of the world knocking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lorax](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lorax/gifts).



> TITLE: In a Hand-basket
> 
> AUTHOR: Eleri McCleod
> 
> CONTACT INFO: elerimc@gmail.com; http://elerimc.livejournal.com/
> 
> STATUS: complete
> 
> CATEGORY: Apocalyptothon 2011 Challenge, apocafic, Supernatural/Veronica Mars crossover
> 
> PAIRINGS: Dean/Jo, Dean/Veronica leanings
> 
> SPOILERS: vague ones throughout Veronica Mars, anything through season 5 for Supernatural
> 
> SEASON: post-Veronica Mars, future AU Supernatural from end of season 3
> 
> CONTENT LEVEL: M, 15+, FR15, take your pick
> 
> CONTENT WARNINGS: It's apocafic! Everything's fair game. Character death, language, non-explicit sexual situations, torture and probably a few more.
> 
> SUMMARY: They say when one door closes another is opened. 99.99% of the time that's a good thing. The other .01%? Sometimes that's the end of the world knocking.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: Supernatural and its characters are the property of Eric Kripke, Kripke Enterprises and Warner Brothers. Veronica Mars and its characters are the property of Rob Thomas, Warner Bros. and Silver Pictures Television. I'm just borrowing them for a little while and will return them unharmed. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> ARCHIVE: FF, Supernaturalville, LJ, AO3, Apocalyptothon, any others please ask
> 
> AUTHOR'S NOTES: I had an incredible time writing this story! What started out as a challenge to see how I could cross these two universes quickly became a story I cared about a great deal. I hope you enjoy it as much. I can't wait to return to these characters and continue their story. To my story requester, I hope this fulfills your wish for awesomeness. ;) I simply ran out of time to do everything I had planned. Well, for now, at least. ;) Special thanks go to Jack and Lyn for betaing this on such short notice. You both were life-savers! Any remaining mistakes are purely mine as I tend to fiddle up until the very last minute. And I mean that literally this time. (vbg) As always, any and all feedback is appreciated.

************

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In a Hand-basket

************  
Part One  
************

Huddled into a soaked, freezing ball, Veronica Mars wondered where her life would have been if the world hadn't ended a year ago. One thing she did know was she never would have been on the run for her life, bare feet torn and bleeding, dressed in rags, praying desperately the demon on her trail would just pass by.

Life, however, had taught her prayers were useless.

Footsteps sounded near enough she could hear them above the racket of her pounding heart and she squeezed her eyes shut tight. She clenched her knees closer to her body, forcing herself into an even smaller space. Just walk by, just walk by, just walk by...

The footsteps paused. The creak of a door pushing slowly open let the sound of rain batter her ears.

"Here, piggy-piggy."

So much for her thoughts of escape. She didn't bother trying to run again. The demon would catch her before she made it ten steps. The only question mark was what punishment she had waiting for her back at the camp. She'd seen a man flogged to death for simply being overheard talking about trying to escape. She'd actually run. She could only hope the demon would go ahead and kill her. What tiny bit of her pride remained after a year in the camps wouldn't survive a return.

She'd thought all trace of her spine had disappeared long ago, but when the transport van had hydroplaned and slammed into a tree, she'd crawled over the shattered glass chunks of the windows and run without thought and without looking back. There might have been other survivors out of the seven of them, but her only thought had been to run. Knowing the incredible speed of the demon guards, she'd scrambled over dirt trails, through woods, around fences, blindly searching for a place to hide. The rain would work in her favor, minimizing her trail. Apparently it hadn't minimized it enough.

The barn was in surprisingly good shape. Its bracing rafters were still solid and the smell of molding hay nearly knocked her off her feet. But it was far away from the crash site and would give her shelter from the freezing rain. Unfortunately, her shelter had turned into a trap.

"If you come out now, I'll only hurt you a little bit."

Blood trickled over her clenched hand and down into the holes torn in the rough canvas of her jumpsuit. She bit down into her lip to keep a panicked shriek from escaping. The taste of hot copper filled her mouth.

The footsteps started moving again. "If you make me search I'll bleed you slowly and painfully."

She barely heard it over the pounding of the pulse in her ears. Run, the hindmost part of her brain shrieked, run! But her muscles were locked tight. She tracked his progress through the barn unconsciously, his taunts only so much noise in the whiteness filling her head. She couldn't go back to the camps.

Heavy boots filled her vision and she raised dead eyes to meet black-filled ones. He smiled, a predatory baring of teeth. "Hello, little piggy. You didn't actually think you could hide from me, did you?"

A flash of movement behind the demon tried to pull her gaze but she couldn't look away from the pure black death staring down at her. She couldn't talk, couldn't think, couldn't even breathe.

"She might not be able to, but I can."

The new voice was deep, harsh and uncompromising. And one of the most beautiful things Veronica had heard in her life.

The demon spun, his face a mask of stunned shock she'd never thought to see on one of them. "Who the hell are you?"

"Someone you bastards should have paid a little less attention to."

She didn't have time to blink before the man shoved a viciously serrated knife into the demon's chest. She saw a flash of white light bounce off the man's face, highlighting his flat expression, and she shivered in her ball of pain and fear. He wrenched the knife back with a sneer, watching as the lifeless body slumped to the ground, one arm trailing over Veronica's feet. Merciless eyes met hers, their hazel shadowed with death, pain and hopelessness. "If you want to live, dump the damn jumpsuit and keep running."

He didn't give Veronica time to respond, just turned and walked away. Long seconds passed as her heart relearned how to beat. The weight of the demon's arm across her feet was suddenly nauseating and she scrambled upright, the slivers of wood digging into her palms mere pinpricks of sensation. She looked toward the door, toward her savior's retreating back, and ran after him. "Wait." She coughed roughly, the tension singeing through her veins closing her throat painfully. "Wait, please." He didn't stop, just kept walking with a ground-eating stride. Her battered feet protested every step through the muddy field, but she didn't pause. If she wanted answers she couldn't let him leave. "Who are you? You're not one of them."

That did bring him around, his eyes blazing fiercely for a split second. "No, I'm not one of them. But I'm not one of you either."

She had the feeling he meant more than just a camp slave, but she didn't follow up on it. The old her would have, the one who was fearless in the face of motorcycle gang leaders and crowbar wielding teenagers alike. She was pretty sure that girl had died a long time ago. "Let me come with you."

Another one of those cold steel looks burned through her, the hazel dull and dead once again. "No." He turned on his heel and left her staring at him without another glance.

Something sparked inside her, the sight of him walking away from her--abandoning her--bringing something long forgotten to life. "Wait a damn minute. Don't just walk away from me!" Her voice echoed in the clearing, the trees holding the sound tight around them. She froze, heart pounding frantically against her ribs, waiting for him to end her life for her audacity. She'd had her mouth beaten out of her long ago. At least she'd thought it had been. Now, staring across the distance at the man who exuded violence like Logan had once leaked sex appeal, she wasn't so sure.

"Excuse me, sweetheart? I can do any damn thing I well please. I'm not the one in a jumpsuit." Despite the harsh words, she caught the slightest hint of interest in the dead tone. She held his gaze, more out of fear than will, and nearly stumbled when he looked away. "Follow me."

He didn't wait to see if she was going to obey, just turned for the third time and took off. She tripped in her hurry to keep up. It had to have been an hour later before he stopped next to a battered and rusted out hulk of a vehicle. It was a truck of some kind and the color might have been yellow at some point in its life, but time and the apocalypse had not been kind. Thankfully, the rain had stopped during their hike but a chill wind had taken its place and shivered its way through the holes in her jumpsuit. Looking around the area he'd stashed the truck, she caught a glimpse of road and what remained of a white transport van almost a hundred yards away. Her stomach sank at the sight. She was right back where she'd started that morning. Gaze flying to the man currently digging through a bag sitting in the driver's seat of the truck, the investigator long hidden away leaped to the front of her brain. He'd known the van was here. He'd known exactly where she'd been hiding. Her rescue at the barn couldn't have been an accident. He might have even engineered the entire crash. Just who the hell was this guy?

"Drink this."

This was a silver flask he held out in one hand. Veronica backed away without thought. No one offered anything without a price tag, not since the demons came. "What is it?"

He smiled and it wasn't in amusement. "Nothing that will hurt you." He took a long swig then held it out again, one eyebrow cocked in challenge.

Taking the flask gingerly, she bobbled it when she realized it was warm to the touch, not cold as she'd expected. Maybe he hadn't pulled it from the truck after all. She brought it to her lips and knocked back a large swallow. Water. It was just water. She nearly choked in surprise at the clean, fresh taste of it. Looking down at the flask, she took in the stylized cross etched into the silver almost absently. When was the last time she'd tasted anything so good? "Can I finish it?"

His eyes narrowed a little as he nodded once. He reached back into the bag and pulled out a leather bound book. Flipping it open seemingly at random, he exchanged the book for the flask. "Read."

"What?" She was starting to sound like one of her dad's old records. The guy had saved her life, but she was beginning to think he wasn't all there. She'd humor him though if he could get her away from the crash site and the camps. Raising the book, she picked a line at random and read, the unused synapses in her brain actually sighing in sheer bliss at the activity. "'He leadeth me beside still waters. He restoreth my soul: He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me.'" She looked up, confusion and joy warring for dominance in her chest. It had been a long time since she'd heard a word from or even seen the book she held. "The Bible. Where did you get it?"

He didn't answer, his face loosening the slightest bit. "Here."

She handed it back, arm outstretched to its fullest, not wanting to take the step necessary to move closer to him. A second later she was clutching her forearm and stumbling back, a cry of pain locked in her throat. She felt a sense of betrayal filling her and fought it back. He was just some stranger who happened to choose her transport van to ambush. That he would slice her arm open and stand there staring at her with that blank expression shouldn't mean anything to her. But it did. "What the hell was that for? In case you haven't noticed I'm half your size and in no shape to attack you."

A long stretch of silence fell between them as blood oozed from beneath her hand. He never blinked, his eyes hard and cold as he stared down at her. Just as she'd decided to leave, to take her chances on her own, the ice cleared leaving behind only an empty expression. "Here," he said again, this time holding out a rag. When she didn't take it, he nodded, one corner of his mouth quirking up. He laid it over the side of the truck bed then turned back to the duffel bag leaving her to stare at his back.

She snatched the rag from the truck and pressed it to the cut he'd put in her arm. Even dirty it had to be cleaner than her grimy hand. She kept a careful distance, her arm one painful throb of sensation as she applied as much pressure as she could stand. She hadn't had much opportunity to use any of the first aid she'd learned so long ago, but pressure on a wound wasn't something she was likely to forget. The man ignored her glare and continued to rummage through his bag of tricks. The bleeding had stopped oozing by the time he held up a pair of ratty jeans and a button down flannel shirt that should have seen its last leg a few years ago.

"Put these on. I need to burn that jumpsuit."

Again with the orders. She gritted her teeth, however, and took the clothes. Despite their raggedy appearance they smelled clean and actually looked to match. They were going to be gigantic on her without question. The man had a full foot on her in height and he had a broadness to his chest and shoulders that even the many layers of clothes he wore couldn't hide. He obviously hadn't spent any time in the camps lately. No one carried around that much natural muscle anymore.

"Go on the other side of the truck. I'll wait here." If her imagination hadn't always been far too overactive, she would have sworn his voice softened just the slightest bit. There was no trace of it in his eyes or face so she shrugged the thought aside and took his advice.

She listened to him repacking the duffel as she stripped off the hated and filthy jumpsuit, leaving it in a puddle of canvas at her feet. The jeans slid over her legs with the feel of silk and she nearly cried at the sensation. Who'd have thought that the simple feel of well worn jeans would be Veronica Mars' breaking point? She blinked back the burn in her eyes as she rolled the cuffs up above tripping level. The shirt was threadbare in places, but just as soft as the denim and heavenly against the sensitive skin of her breasts. The scratchy jumpsuit had been torture enough all on its own. The demons could have left off any of the other fun and games they'd devised for her and her fellow camp-mates.

He stuffed the duffel back behind his seat as she rounded the truck once again, holding the jeans up at her waist with one hand and the jumpsuit with the other. Silently, he handed her a bungee cord and she quickly threaded it through the belt loops. It wasn't a perfect fit, but it would keep them from falling. He took the jumpsuit, also without a word, and carried it about ten feet away from the truck. He sprinkled something white and powdery over it then sprayed a clear liquid over the entire mess. The sharp smell of accelerant stung her nose and she stepped back unconsciously. He was seriously going to burn the damn thing. But what was with the powder? She didn't have time to get the question out of her mouth before the jumpsuit was nothing more than dancing flames. Not like he'd answer it anyway. Her savior apparently wasn't big on small talk.

When it had burned to his satisfaction, he strode back to the open door of the truck and climbed inside. Veronica all but sprinted on bruised and cut feet to get to the passenger side before he took off without her. The unexpected gift of clothes gave her no security about her status. The door opened with a rusty squeal, but at least it opened. She hopped up and slammed it behind her, throwing the lock automatically. She smiled slightly at the gesture. Some things really never changed.

The truck roared to life and she knew its ramshackle appearance belied its upkeep. The man, or someone he knew, had a fine hand at keeping a car running in top shape. He threw the truck in gear and would have taken off without a word or glance in her direction. "I'm Veronica. Veronica Mars."

A long, dead pause filled the cab, only the sound of the engine between them. Finally, the man blinked, his hazel eyes leaving hers to focus on the dirt trail leading back to the paved road. "Dean."

Dean, she repeated silently as he hit the gas and passed the wreck of her transport van without a glance. She didn't look either. She didn't want to see any of her fellow prisoners lying motionless on the ground. She'd seen enough of that in the last month alone. Her gaze stayed fixed on Dean's profile, finally allowing herself to absorb what he looked like. The suddenness of his rescue followed by his strange demands at the truck had kept her from really seeing him. Like an unexpected slap, she realized he was gorgeous. Not just pretty or handsome. The man was a freaking knockout. Even the jagged scar running from his right temple over the perfect slash of his cheekbone and down his neck where it disappeared into the collar of his jacket couldn't hide the fact.

She must have been more messed up than she'd thought to have missed it. An uncomfortable curl of warmth filled her gut and she shoved it back down. All he'd done was save her life and give her the clothes on her back. It didn't mean anything. It really didn't. Too bad she'd stopped lying to herself when she'd watched Logan get sliced up trying to protect her. She could have used a few lies just then.

************


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** See Part One for full story notes and disclaimers.

************  
Part Two  
************

THEN...

She must have been more messed up than she'd thought to have missed it. An uncomfortable curl of warmth filled her gut and she shoved it back down. All he'd done was save her life and give her the clothes on her back. It didn't mean anything. It really didn't. Too bad she'd stopped lying to herself when she'd watched Logan get sliced up trying to protect her. She could have used a few lies just then.

NOW...

************

Hands tight on the steering wheel, Dean Winchester struggled to ignore the curious eyes of his unexpected passenger. Veronica, Veronica Mars. He'd almost choked on a laugh when she'd introduced herself. Who the hell did that anymore? There were only two things Dean needed to know about a person and a name wasn't one of them.

He still didn't know how she'd ended up in one of his few sets of extra clothes and sitting in the cab with him. In the forever that had been his last year above ground he'd never picked up any of the other strays he'd come across. Maybe Jo was right and it really was time for him to take a couple of days, head to the Roadhouse, version two, and get some rest. But even exhaustion and the growing hopelessness inside his gut couldn't account for his actions today.

Winters had slipped him the information about the transport van less than twenty-four hours ago leaving Dean with an overnight drive in an already too-tired body. The opportunity was too important to pass up though. So he'd thrown whatever supplies he had available into the truck and tore out of his post-hunt hideout. He'd had less than an hour to set up the ambush and he'd barely caught his breath before the van made its appearance five minutes early. The driver had no chance to react, even his enhanced demon speed unable to keep the tires from being shredded by the spike strip. The needle-like rain had turned the road into something more like an oil slick and it was all over but the crashing. Swerving wildly all over the road, it had finally gone head first into a large tree, flinging bodies around in the back like potato sacks.

Dean saw the jumpsuit clad humans peripherally, but his focus was on the demons in the front of the van climbing out on either side. He only needed one alive. Going on the offensive, he struck before they could recover enough to start on him with a little of their own flinging. One quick stab into the throat and the female slid to the ground with a gurgled shriek, white light escaping from the hole in her flesh. The male didn't glance at his companion as she fell, tackling Dean with a breath stealing thump of shoulder. They hit the ground and Dean rolled frantically even as he forced his lungs to take in air. If he couldn't get the advantage quickly he was a dead man. Either luck was on his side or the demon sucked more than normal at hand-to-hand. Dean flipped the demon, ripping the specially designed amulet out from under his shirt and over his head. In less than a breath, he had the heavy chain around the demon's neck. While the demon lay stunned and shuddering in disbelief and pain, Dean bound his hands with a rosary. He'd found it a particularly effective method of restraint quite by accident almost six months ago. Having run out of options and useful inventory, he'd been forced to improvise with whatever he'd had on hand. The cording on the rosary hadn't been the strongest, but it had been in one piece and just long enough to fit around the demon's wrists. The unexpected smoke as well as the demon's inability to throw him around the room had turned the field expedient item into a mandatory part of his gear.

The demon's wrists smoked in the rain as Dean stared down at him, the solid black eyes that spat hatred the least of his fears after a few too many centuries trapped down in the Pit. "How many humans are imprisoned in the camp?" He didn't expect an answer, well, not an honest one and he wasn't disappointed.

"Just your mother and sisters. They taste like chicken."

He ignored the words, focusing on the demon's eyes, on his face. There was only one thing he was interested in anyway. The rest was just window dressing. "How many demons in the area?"

"More than your little pig-sticker can handle."

"I'm looking for a very tall man, white guy, six-four."

"We killed all of the tall ones. Split them open like watermelons."

There wasn't even a flicker of recognition in the demon's eyes. Not giving the disappointment permission to surface, Dean shoved the bone-handled knife into the demon's heart. The black eyes flickered once, twice, before vanishing, leaving behind a startling blue beneath the slack lids. He retrieved his reinforced rosary chain handcuffs and the locking sigil from around the corpse's neck. With a sigh, he pushed to his feet. The chances had been paper-thin anyway. He'd been searching for over a year without even the smallest hint.

Sam wasn't there. God, he missed his brother.

The thought floated heavily in his mind. He shoved it aside along with its accompanying heartache. As he rounded the front of the van he knew questioning the prisoners would be a waste of time. Each had a dark crimson line spreading across the widths of their throats. Fuck. He'd missed one in his rush to get to the two he could see. He needed a break. He never would have made such a rookie mistake if he'd just had one night's rest. Whirling in a tight circle, he scanned the trees, searching for his fleeing rabbit. A quick flash of blue among the trees where it shouldn't be gave the demon away. Dean headed after it, using every ounce of skill drilled into him by his father so many years ago.

He could have overtaken the demon easily; the male wasn't moving particularly fast. It didn't take more than a couple of minutes to discover why. A petite woman in a jumpsuit with what was probably blonde hair ran in a pained, shuffling gait just at the edge of Dean's vision. Bastard demon. He was toying with her. A long dead spark flared to life in his chest and his jaw tightened painfully. Two could play that game.

He followed the demon on silent feet, letting him keep track of the woman for him. When they disappeared into a barn that looked to be in surprisingly good shape, the demon more than a few minutes after the woman, Dean knew it was time to make his move. The stupid bastard never even heard him. He was too busy getting his rocks off terrifying a helpless human. Dean was too angry to bother asking him any questions. The entire trip had been a bust.

Glancing across the cab now, he met blue eyes that probably would have knocked him on his ass some five years ago, give or take a couple of centuries. Despondency shadowed the clear depths, limiting their impact. And yet there was something hidden way down deep, a glimmer of life that told him she'd been hell on wheels before the Devil's Gate had been thrown wide open. He turned back to the road, swallowing down the familiar bile. It had all started with that damn Gate.

It had all started with him.

"Thank you, Dean."

"What?" He hadn't meant to take her head off, but the sound of her voice was so unexpected amidst the turmoil of his memories it came out in a harsh, jagged shout. Softening the tone as much as he was able, he shrugged slightly. "What did you say?"

"I said thank you. Sorry. I won't talk anymore." She huddled a little further into the corner of the door, tugging the too large shirt tighter around her thin chest.

The little spark fluttered up again, stuttering as it struggled to find a purchase. He let it flounder, strangely disconnected from its fight. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt anything remotely associated with pity or even concern. Hell, he barely recognized the emotions. For so long now his world had been nothing but the search. Yet watching Veronica grow smaller without moving, he felt a little of both. His chest filled with an uncomfortable warmth he didn't bother trying to analyze. "You're welcome. Are you hungry?" It was a stupid question. Of course she was hungry. She'd been in the camps for who the hell knew how long. No one was fed well there.

"I could eat."

He snorted, amused despite himself by the understatement. "Right. There should be a protein bar in the glove box. Have at it." She stared at him for a long moment, eyes narrowed as if trying to figure out what his angle was. "It's not poisoned."

She didn't answer yet her arm stretched out and opened the compartment with a quick snap of the wrist. Dean knew the bar was probably stale as hell. He couldn't remember when he'd tossed it in there. But she scarfed it down as if it was steak and lobster from a five-star restaurant. He kept his eyes on the road to give her some semblance of privacy. He doubted it fooled her.

"Thanks again." Crumpling up the wrapper, she looked over with a grimace. "I get the feeling I'll be saying that a lot."

"Forget about it. I won't miss it." Once the words were out they seemed a hell of a lot more bitter than he'd meant them. So what if thanks for risking his life day in, day out had been overlooked more often than not. So what if the hundreds, maybe thousands, he and his family had saved over the years had long since forgotten all about the strange men who'd asked the strange questions? He didn't deserve to be remembered or thanked. There would never be enough people to save to balance out the numbers he'd killed by proxy.

"Yeah, but my dad raised me to be polite. He would be disappointed if I chucked it all now." There was more than a little bitterness of her own buried underneath the innocent words. He didn't call her on it. Another mile passed in silence and he could feel her building up the courage to speak with every foot of it. "Where are we going?"

His eyes flicked back over to meet hers for a quick second. That wasn't the first question he thought she'd ask. He'd been betting on "why did you save me?" Thankfully he had an answer for hers. He still hadn't come up with a logical lie for his. "We call it the Roadhouse. It's a place safe from demons, a place we can let our guard down for a little while. Well, it's as safe a place as we can make it."

Veronica frowned, scooting away from the door and turning sideways to face him. He didn't tell her to buckle up. Getting hurt in a car crash was the least of their worries. "A safe place? We tried that a long time ago and it didn't work. They just busted right through the doors. That super human strength and the way their eyes change, it's why we call them demons. They're not normal people. None of them are anymore."

If it hadn't been so sad he might have laughed. Instead he sighed heavily. They had no idea what was going on. He'd thought enough people who knew the truth would have filled in the blanks for the regular Joes caught in the trenches. More than a year of Hell on Earth and no one even knew what kind of creatures were running things top-side. He'd have thought demons would be more chatty about themselves when they'd escaped from Hell and taken over. "It didn't work because you didn't know how to stop them. Demons are a bit harder to guard against, but it can be done."

A long silence came from the other side of the cab. He could almost hear her thinking. "You aren't talking in the figurative sense like we do, are you? You really mean demons. From hell?"

He bit back the automatic sarcasm. It wasn't her fault she was completely ignorant. "No, I'm not. The man who was chasing you? Demon from Hell. The driver of the van? Demon from Hell. The head people running the camps? Demons from Hell. They're all possessed." He had to admit she took it well. He'd seen worse reactions in his time.

"Like 'The Exorcist' type possession?"

He didn't think it was aimed at him. The inwardly turned look in her eyes told him she was working it out in her mind, putting the pieces together. He saw the instant it all fell into place and he pulled the truck over. Something told him she was going to take all of his attention. He didn't want to end up like the rest of the people in the van.

"People just changed overnight. One day everything was fine. I was helping my dad with the business, taking some refresher course at the college and then..." She trailed off, eyes seeing things he'd never know.

"And then some people were different? Sometimes their eyes turned black? They had crazy amounts of strength? Didn't remember what they'd done when they woke up?" If they woke up. He kept the rest of the thought to himself.

Nodding absently, her hands twisted themselves into knots in her lap. She blinked once, twice, before her eyes connected with his. "Everything changed. The whole world changed." A single tear slipped over the edge of her lashes and down her cheek.

He didn't let her fall into the despair he could see floating in the blue depths. "How long have you been in the camps?" He'd give her time to fall apart once they reached the Roadhouse. Jo was a sucker for wounded puppies. He'd drop her off and get back to his hunt.

"I'm not sure. What month is it? God, what year is it?"

"2013. October."

"Almost a year. A year and a half since the first of the demons appeared." Her expression mirrored the disbelief in her voice at the words.

The time line matched perfectly. It also told him Veronica had a hell of a lot more backbone than he'd thought. To survive that long in the camps and come out relatively intact took something most people just didn't have. At least not that Dean had found. The few survivors he'd met had been little more than husks of flesh, barely functioning enough to put one foot in front of the other. Veronica was not just walking, but reasoning and talking back as well. Hell on wheels probably didn't even begin to cover it. "Have you been at this camp the whole time?"

"Only a few months, I think. It's hard to keep track of time in there. I think the first one was in southern California, where I'm from. This was my fifth move. Where are we anyway?"

"Arizona. They were taking you north. Which just happens to be the direction I'm headed."

He gave her points for not asking where they were going specifically, not like he would have told her. While the Roadhouse wasn't exactly a secret, they didn't go around advertising its location to all and sundry. But she did finally get around to asking that one pesky question. "Why did you save me? Let me come with you?"

Swallowing hard, he turned back to the steering wheel and put the truck in gear. Maybe if he ignored her she'd forget about it. Apparently she'd been more than a bit stubborn as well. Before. The silence didn't last a mile.

"Dean." She waited until he glanced over, her blue, blue eyes already noticeably clearer than when he'd sliced her arm up. He looked down but couldn't see any blood through the flannel sleeve. "Why? You could have just left me there."

"Yeah, I could have." His hands tightened on the wheel, the cracked leather flaking off in tiny bits around his fingers. "Look, I kill demons for a living. He pissed me off just by existing. It was no big deal." They both knew what a steaming pile of shit that was for an answer. Thankfully she let it slide. He wasn't naive enough to think she wouldn't bring it up again. All he had to do was avoid it long enough to dump her with Jo and get gone.

"You kill demons for a living," she repeated slowly, more interest than disbelief in the tone. He could feel her gaze boring into the side of his face. "So before, with the water and the reading and the cutting. You were what? Testing me? Checking to see if I was a demon?"

He nodded, risking a quick look over. This time he saw the intelligence in her eyes, the darkness pushed to the side for the moment. He had no illusions it was gone for good. "Possessed, remember? Demons need a host top-side. You passed, by the way."

A startled burst of laughter filled the cab. It was missing a telltale note of amusement however. "I guess I should say thanks again. My arm's not too sure though. The Bible I get. Demons wouldn't be too up on reading the word of God. And I'll assume it was holy water?" He nodded again when she paused. "So what was up with the knife? The people who are possessed don't die like the rest of us."

"But they do react to a silver blade. Sorry about that. Has the bleeding stopped yet?"

"Mostly." She fingered her arm lightly and he looked away again. He didn't need her adding to the guilt already weighing him down. Her lips eased up into the first smile he'd seen from her. It transformed her face, took some of the horror of the camps off and gave him an indication of what she'd look like when she cleaned herself up. It also told him she was a lot younger than he'd thought. If she'd seen her twenty-fifth birthday he'd eat his knife. "Silver, huh? I'm surprised you didn't stab me with iron as well. Or is that just for fairies?"

He ignored the sarcasm. She'd more than earned a few jabs at his expense. "There's an iron bar built into the binding of the Bible. A demon would have felt it, reacted."

A beat of silence filled the cab as she took in his words. "Huh. I guess you had all your bases covered, didn't you?"

"Every time, sweetheart." He spotted a likely exit ramp and aimed the truck at it. Too many demons traveled the multi-lane freeways of the country and he needed to get them to Colorado. For some reason demons avoided the smaller, less traveled highways. He had yet to figure out why and he wasn't sure he really cared. He was just glad they did. The highway was empty, its painted center line practically nonexistent as the truck flew over the wet road. It almost felt like the old days. Except it wasn't his brother or father at his side.

"Veronica."

His eyebrows rose at the correction, his lips twitching upward at the corner. She'd said she was originally from California. She was only making it too easy for him. Then he sharply reminded himself he was dumping her at the Roadhouse and wouldn't see her again. Jo would have Veronica farmed out to a safe place soon enough. Well, as safe as any other in the world these days.

When he didn't say anything else, she sighed audibly, apparently expecting him to jabber away non-stop. "Dean." She waited for him to look over, her blue eyes huge in her pixie face. "These demons, they aren't going to go away, are they?"

"No. No, they're not." But he sure as hell could thin the herd a little while he was searching. The three today was a cause for celebration, despite his unexpected tag along.

"Tell me how to protect myself. Things like the holy water. Tell me how to hurt them."

He held her gaze, not caring the road was flashing by far too quickly for inattention. Her face held a determination he never would have thought to see from someone kept prisoner in the camps for so long. "How much do you want to know?"

"Everything."

They did have eight hundred miles to go. He might get through it all by then.

************


	3. Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** See Part One for full story notes and disclaimers.

************  
Part Three  
************

THEN...

"Tell me how to protect myself. Things like the holy water. Tell me how to hurt them."

He held her gaze, not caring the road was flashing by far too quickly for inattention. Her face held a determination he never would have thought to see from someone kept prisoner in the camps for so long. "How much do you want to know?"

"Everything."

They did have eight hundred miles to go. He might get through it all by then.

NOW...

************

"Veronica, wake up."

There was a crick in her neck and her right butt cheek was numb, but she was too exhausted to care. All she wanted to do was sleep. "Another hour, please, Logan. I promise I'll make you pancakes for brunch."

"Sorry, V, I'm not Logan, whoever he is. We're here. Jo will be pissed if I leave you in the truck all night."

The voice was too deep to be her boyfriend and she didn't know anyone named Jo. She sat up straight, wincing as every muscle protested the sudden movement. Her numb butt tingled as blood flow returned to the abused area. Scanning outside the truck's window, she saw trees in every direction. Directly in front of the truck was a building, an old-school log cabin type of structure that would outlast a nuclear winter. It all came back with the suddenness of a slap. The accident that wasn't, the demon, Dean. Learning everything she'd been told all of her life was a lie. She rubbed her hands over her face and up through her tangled and matted hair. God, she felt like crap. "What time is it?"

"Just after 2 a.m. You've been out for about six hours." He pushed open the door and slid out, reaching behind his seat for his duffel.

Six hours? No wonder her body ached like a bitch. Following him around the truck and up the steps, she felt snakes start hissing in her stomach. Everything Dean had told her about this Jo woman, well, before she'd dropped off like a stone, screamed that she was a person to watch her step around. Veronica was more nervous about meeting this frighteningly strong woman than she'd ever been facing down Celeste Kane. "Are you sure we shouldn't wait until morning? It's pretty late."

"Trust me. Jo won't mind." He knocked before she could come up with another reason to stop him.

She stood next to him on the porch, hands gripped so tight together she could feel her knuckles creak. She wasn't ready by a long shot when the door was flung open and she got another slap in the face. "Meg?" It was barely a whisper, but she felt it down to her toes. The woman was a few inches taller than Veronica, blonde hair just as straight and long as the last time she'd seen the girl alive. Yet here she was stepping back away from the door, holding it wide for them to enter instead of pushing up daisies back in Neptune. A tingle of fear wormed its way through her. Hadn't Dean said demons could possess any body? What if this woman wasn't really a woman after all? What if a demon had pulled Meg's body out of the grave? They couldn't do that, could they?

"Dean, thank God. Where the hell have you been?" She even sounded like Meg, only harder, more confident. The Meg look-alike didn't so much as glance in her direction, but Veronica knew the woman had seen her and dismissed her as a threat. She didn't know whether to be happy or offended at being brushed off so quickly. But the lack of reaction spoke more to the incredible similarity of looks as more of a fluke of nature than a demonic game.

Dean just smiled at the woman's question, face full of a quiet warmth she had yet to see on him during their long drive. It only added to the knock out looks, damn him. "I came straight here, Jo. It's a long way from Arizona."

She closed the door firmly behind them, throwing two heavy duty dead bolts with sharp twists of her wrist. Veronica frowned as the woman, Jo or Meg or whoever she was, took a jar from beside the door and poured a solid line of white powder across the threshold. With a snap, Veronica realized it had to be salt. He'd told her about the purities in the crystal and how they somehow kept creepy crawlies trapped, but she hadn't had time to assimilate it. It was also the powder he'd used on her jumpsuit before lighting it up. If only she'd known about a quarter of the things he'd said on the drive, she could have saved her dad, Logan, hell, just one person she'd known before. She jumped when Jo set the jar back onto the bare floorboards with a thump.

"You could have called, Dean. That's why you have a radio." With every word, Veronica was sliding farther away from the thought the woman walking ahead of her was Meg. Even fifteen months of demons walking the Earth couldn't change sweet Meg Manning into this powerful creature.

"I figured in person would be better." When Jo's mouth opened to continue, he cut her off. "Winters didn't give me a whole hell of a lot of time on this one, Jo. I barely got there as it was."

Jo stopped just inside the doorway leading to a small kitchen Veronica could see around their bodies. "Damn. You didn't even get a night's sleep after Kentucky, did you?" Jo's voice softened slightly and Veronica's eyebrows quirked up as she glanced back and forth between the two. Was there a little bit more going on beneath the surface? The long-silent investigator within her breathed in a shaky gasp, atrophied muscles stretching painfully. "I'm sorry," Jo continued, leading them the rest of the way into the kitchen. "You have to be exhausted. And you can't be in much better shape."

Veronica nearly tripped over the hem of her borrowed pants when the other woman's attention turned to her without warning. "What? Um, hi. And yes, I am. But at least I got a few hours in the truck. Dean was driving the whole time."

"Jo Harvelle," Dean said, one hand passing from one woman to the other, "meet Veronica. Veronica Mars."

She looked over in time to see a glint of amusement fading from the hazel depths. So there was a sense of humor buried under there somewhere. The lines on his face couldn't all be from the last hellish year. "It's good to meet you." She doubted she'd meant anything more sincerely in a long time.

"Welcome to the Roadhouse, version two. Dean, get yourself some sleep. You know the way. Veronica, why don't you come with me? We'll find some clothes that'll fit better than Dean's castoffs. And I'm guessing you wouldn't turn down a shower right about now."

"I just might kiss you." Although she was growing rather fond of ratty flannel, soft enough to feel like silk against her skin.

"Hey, there's nothing wrong with my clothes."

"Only if you're the one wearing them, baby."

He had no comeback, merely sent a glare in Jo's direction before turning on his heel and disappearing down the dimly lit hallway. Veronica's gaze followed him until he disappeared into the thick shadows. "He saved my life, Jo. I was two seconds away from death. I saw it in the demon's eyes." She turned to meet the steady brown gaze void of judgment.

Jo ran a hand through her silky fine hair and it danced in the light. "Right place, right time, huh?" There was a trace of something Veronica couldn't identify in her voice and she was too tired to muddle through the possibilities to figure it out. Maybe it would come to her in the morning.

"You could say that. After he killed the demon he told me to run. I don't think he meant to run right along behind him." A spark of her own forgotten sense of humor bubbled up. The tiny moment raised her spirits even more than the thought of a shower. Jo merely smiled, the expression accepting more than amused. Another thing Veronica added to the list of things to puzzle through later.

"Come on. Let's find you some clothes, the shower and a bed. We can talk more tomorrow. I'm not sure you'll remember anything we talk about now."

She didn't correct the other woman. Yes, she was tired, but it was more a fatigue of relief than actual weariness. Her sleep in the truck seemed to have done more good than she'd originally thought upon Dean's wake up call. She followed Jo up the stairs, noting the very quiet squeaks and groans on only a few steps. Whoever built the place had known what they were doing. In a world now full of demons, any helpful noise could mean the difference between a very painful death and escape. She promised herself she'd memorize the pattern if she was going to be staying for any length of time. Something inside her balked at the idea. She didn't want to be stuck in a building after finally getting free of the camps. But what other choice did she have? It wasn't as if she knew so many people walking around free anymore.

Jo opened a door before she could come up with an alternative. "Something in your size should be over there," she said, pointing to a stack of boxes along the right hand side of the room.

As they rifled through the first box, Veronica found herself paying more attention to the sheer amount of stuff than what was in her hands. "Where did you get all of this?"

Looking up with eyebrows raised, Jo scanned the room as if seeing it for the first time. "Other hunters. A lot of them don't have a permanent place so I hold onto things for them. They bring me extra supplies now and again."

Hunter. She supposed it was as good a term as any to describe what Dean did. Although it was a bit of a shock to learn there were others out there who hunted demons. Where had they been when the world came crashing down? Where had they been since? Then her brain kicked in and she read the underlying explanation. There was no need to force Jo to say it aloud. She didn't want to know how many of those hunters never came back for their property. She also didn't want to know where they'd found those extra supplies Jo started handing her. "These should be fine." She clutched the jeans and long sleeved t-shirt to her chest, the incongruously colored bra, panties and socks folded between them. She'd lost weight she didn't have to lose in the camps, but she cared more about comfort than fashion and fit at the moment. Loose would be a luxury of the highest order.

"You can pick out a few more changes in the morning." Jo could have been reading her mind just then and she wouldn't have cared. She only wanted out of that room with its remnants of murdered people.

Veronica trailed along behind the other woman once again, her new clothes held like a treasure in her hands. At the end of the hall, Jo pointed through a door half opened. "Towels and wash cloths are under the sink, everything else's in the stall. The soap's not Ivory, but it cleans the dirt off. There might even be a little conditioner buried back there if you're lucky. The water hiccups a bit but it'll stay hot for you."

She'd had Veronica's undying gratitude at towel and she was talking about conditioner and hot water? Veronica smiled her thanks as she slipped into the small room and set the clothes on the even smaller sink.

"Come back down to the kitchen when you're ready. I'll heat something up for you to eat."

"Thank you, Jo." She didn't only mean for the clothes and the promised food. The other woman nodded once then turned back the way she'd come. Veronica closed and locked the door behind her, staring with wide eyes around the bathroom. She hadn't seen one in almost two years. Well, not a private one at any rate. The baths in the camps were communal and having only four or five other women showering with her had been a luxury beyond words. She honestly couldn't remember the last time the water had been heated. A quick search under the treasure trove of the sink gained her a small travel bottle of conditioner as well as a razor still in its plastic packaging. There just might be a God after all. She took a quick minute to use a set of tweezers to dig the last of the splinters out of her hand, the tiny ones she hadn't been able to manage in the truck.

Steam was already filling the room as she stepped into the shower, Dean's jeans and shirt discarded on the floor. The water burned as it hit her skin, but she refused to turn it down. The heat pounded into her muscles, reinforcing the truth with every slap. She was alive. And she was free. She scrubbed, soaped and scraped then did it all again. By the time she turned off the water she was a bright pink, her skin flushed with a long forgotten warmth, and the tiny mirror was nothing but a cloud of condensation. As she'd guessed, the smaller than Before sized bra and panties fit well enough. As she fumbled with the back clasp, tears filled her eyes. To be doing something so ordinary she'd never given it a second's thought was a joy beyond description. After adjusting her new underclothes to her satisfaction, she swiped a hand under her eyes and drew in a deep breath. Lock it up, Mars. There's a long way to go yet.

She tugged the jeans and shirt on without additional incident, the feel of stiff cloth foreign after hours of Dean's well-worn denim and flannel. She folded his clothes into a neat pile and set them on the toilet. She'd make use of that before she went down to meet Jo. There was one thing she had to do first.

The towel shook in her hand as she wiped as much of the mirror as she could reach. Even the small piece of glass was taller than she was. She went over and over the mirror, studiously not looking until it was as pristine as she could make it. Carefully setting the towel in the basin, she took a deep breath before looking up.

The blue of her eyes was almost comically startling in her wan features. Her skin was tanned unevenly, forehead, nose, cheeks and the sides of her neck a much darker hue than the rest. Dark purple drew heavy shadows underneath the shock of her neon irises. Her cheekbones stood out in stark relief above her once healthily rounded cheeks while her jawline was almost sharp enough to cut cloth. But it was the expression itself in her eyes that had a lump trying to climb up her throat. She'd been exhausted Before, so tired she didn't remember crawling into her bed fully clothed after a three day surveillance session. This was past exhaustion and well into the realm of practically dead. Only the tiniest spark of life hid in the deepest recess of blue.

She forced the lump back down where it belonged and turned away from the mirror. So now she knew exactly what her time in the camps had done to her, physically at least. Over the interminable months, she'd watched as everyone around her had grown lifeless, hardened to the misery thriving around them. She'd wondered if she'd had that same look. She didn't have to wonder anymore. And yet that tiny bit of something remained. She reminded herself to be thankful she was alive at all and that she owed Dean far more than her simple thanks for her current state of being. He didn't seem like the accepting type however. But maybe Jo would be willing to help her figure something out.

Now there was a relationship just begging for a little of the old Mars' observation talents. Even barely functioning, Veronica had picked up on the undercurrents. If the two of them didn't have a past as rollercoaster as hers and Logan's had been she'd eat her new jeans. And that's enough of that line of thought, she pulled herself up sharply. At the very least Dean deserved more from her. What he did and whom he might possibly do with it were none of her business.

With one last look in the lightly re-steamed mirror, she picked up the towel, washcloth and Dean's neatly folded clothes. Her eyes adjusted quickly to the dim light of the hallway as she made her way toward the stairs and the heavenly smells already torturing her taste buds. Good God, when was the last time she'd smelled anything so yummy? She swallowed a sudden burst of saliva and started down the stairs on feet softened by thick, new socks. Out of a habit she'd thought long dead as well as a burgeoning sense of Veronica-Before, she descended, paying special attention to where she thought she remembered the small tell-tale squeaks in the planks. A cheek splitting grin lifted her lips when she made it to the bottom without a sound. Apparently some things were too well ingrained to be lost, even when not used in forever.

She nearly dropped the stack of clothes and linen when the sound of voices finally penetrated her euphoric state. Damn it. She'd thought Dean had disappeared for the evening. How was she supposed to grill Jo about him if he was in the kitchen? But when the murmur coalesced into actual words, she froze, locked in place by a sense of foreboding. One part of her brain ordered her feet to turn right back around and get her back up the stairs, giving them time to finish their obviously private conversation. The other part, the one that had kept her pushing to find the truth of Lilly's murder, to find out what had happened to her the night she was drugged with GHB, refused to obey. It had no intention of letting such an opportunity pass by. She hated herself already.

"You know I can't do that, Jo. I have to get back out there."

"Just a few days, Dean, that's all I'm asking you for. You've been going non-stop for months. I'm surprised you made it here in one piece this time."

"Yeah, well, me and the Energizer Bunny. We're like that." Veronica could imagine him holding up crossed fingers, a small quirk at the corner of one mouth. She could also imagine Jo's lack of amusement and had to agree. The man had to be even worse off than she was if he really had driven as far in two days as he'd implied earlier. She almost didn't want to know the answer. She'd been in the truck with him many of those hours. The humor faded as quickly as it'd bubbled up and yanked her back to the present. "He's out there somewhere, Jo. I can't just sit around on my ass for days when I could be searching."

"And I'm not asking you to." She got the feeling the pause was more tactical than a necessary scramble for words. "But you're not going to do him any good if you wrap that truck around a tree because you're too tired to think straight let alone navigate the roads."

"This isn't the first time I've gone without a little sleep."

And exactly who was this 'he' that inspired such devotion in the man who'd killed a demon without blinking? Veronica could only hope the mystery man was worth Dean's effort. She got the impression Jo didn't hold him in such high esteem. Easing one foot to her left, she shifted her weight carefully, keeping to the back wall and its helpful shadows. Another foot and the two people in the kitchen were in her line of sight, though neither would see her unless she did something stupid--okay, more incredibly stupid than spying on her savior and his friend--and drew their attention.

Dean sat at the small table, his hands clasped together on the top. Jo stared at him from her place across the table, head tilted to one side as if she was searching for the best angle of attack. She reached out with one hand, gripping his gently. "But there's no purpose in that and you know it. No one's looking to punish you. It's not your fault, Dean."

"Yeah? Then whose is it exactly?"

She got the feeling neither of them were talking about lack of sleep and safe driving habits anymore. An undercurrent of pain and grief surrounded them, spilling out to brush over Veronica's skin with its tendrils. Whatever color the elephant in the room was, it was huge.

Jo's face tightened and Veronica could see the struggle in the other woman's eyes. She obviously had someone in mind and just as obviously didn't want to say the name. "You didn't ask him to open the gate."

"No? What would you have done if your family was being tortured in hell? Just leave your mom down there? If you had the chance to bring Bill Harvelle back to life? I'm sure you'd go and bake cookies instead." She let him yank his hands away as he sat back in the chair, face set in stone. "He did it to save me from the pit and to hell with the rest of the world. How is that not my fault?"

"He had a choice, Dean. There could have been another way-"

"Don't you think he would have tried everything else first?" The chair toppled onto its back as he stood, hands pressing so hard into the wood of the tabletop his knuckles stood out white. "What's dead should stay dead."

Veronica had a sudden urge to vanish into the wall. The violent suddenness of his movement she was able to take in stride. She hadn't survived the camps by freaking out at every loud noise. It was his voice that froze her blood in her veins. Even after he'd slashed her arm up she hadn't been afraid of him, at least not in the oh-my-God-I'm-going-to-die sense. Now, she was scared. She didn't wait around to hear Jo's response. Breathing as quietly and deeply as she could to get her heart back under control, Veronica hustled up the stairs. There was no way she wanted either of them to know she'd heard any portion of that particular conversation. Even though more than half of it made no sense to her, she'd gotten enough to know it hadn't been meant for any ears but theirs.

She sat on the top step, brain whirling with the puzzling words. Dean had spoken of hell as if it was a real place. And what was all the talk about bringing people back from the dead? She was still struggling to wrap her mind around demon possessions being real. She didn't think she was ready to add an actual hell to the trauma. But she did have to get downstairs before they realized how long the shower had been off. She shelved the questions in the back of her mind for later contemplation. It was one of the hardest things she'd done in a long time.

This time when she went down the stairs, she stepped normally, ensuring to hit at least one of the creaks along the way. The murmur of voices stopped abruptly at the noise and she entered the kitchen with a smile plastered on her face. It wasn't completely a lie. She was clean, wearing new clothes and she was about to eat a meal that had to taste at least half as good as it smelled. "Hey."

"Feeling a bit more human?" Jo asked, getting up with a return smile. She passed Dean with a pointed look then picked up a heavy bowl from the counter. She ladled a thick stream of soup into the bowl from the pot bubbling on the stove. Veronica could see the vegetables from across the room and her stomach growled audibly. "I'll take that as a yes. Here, have a seat."

Veronica sat, setting the pile of clothes on the empty chair next to her, the one Dean had been sitting in a few minutes ago. "Your shower works miracles. I feel almost back to normal." It was a bit of a stretch, but she figured she wouldn't be struck by lightning for the small exaggeration. She'd told much bigger lies in the course of her life.

"Good. Then maybe this will finish the job." Jo set the steaming bowl in front of her along with a spoon that looked like it had seen better days. "I have water and I have coffee. Clear or brown?"

"Coffee?" It probably sounded even more pathetic to their ears than it did to hers. Dean's lips twitched slightly as he looked from one woman to the other. Veronica ignored the amusement and focused on the caffeine being poured into a ceramic mug. The smell had been eclipsed by the soup. She never would have missed it otherwise. The soup was good. The coffee, in all its unpolluted glory, was even better.

"It's rabbit, in case you were wondering. You're not eating dog or cat or anything weird like that."

She swallowed another mouthful and spoke the God's honest truth. "At this point I wouldn't care if it was." Jo sat opposite in the same seat she'd used during her conversation with Dean, leaning back comfortably. Veronica had a feeling it was her normal one. "I thought you were asleep," she said to Dean, keeping one eye on her food, the other on his slouched form where he leaned against the counter. "Bed too lumpy?"

"Just couldn't sleep. I have a few questions for you."

Of course he did. "I figured you might. Would you have any objections to answering a few more of mine in return?" The bowl was rapidly emptying. She wanted to ask for a second helping, but doubted her long abused system could handle it. Her stomach was already uncomfortably full.

"Whatever we can," Jo said, her voice the gentlest Veronica had heard it. The tone failed to comfort her. Despite the need to know what had happened to her world, the burning in her gut to find out the truth, she doubted it would make her feel any better. She'd learned that the hard way over the years. Sometimes ignorance really was bliss. Too bad she'd never been able to just leave it at the idiom.

************


	4. Part 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** See Part One for full story notes and disclaimers.

************  
Part Four  
************

THEN...

"Would you have any objections to answering a few more of mine in return?" The bowl was rapidly emptying. She wanted to ask for a second helping, but doubted her long abused system could handle it. Her stomach was already uncomfortably full.

"Whatever we can," Jo said, her voice the gentlest Veronica had heard it. The tone failed to comfort her. Despite the need to know what had happened to her world, the burning in her gut to find out the truth, she doubted it would make her feel any better. She'd learned that the hard way over the years. Sometimes ignorance really was bliss. Too bad she'd never been able to just leave it at the idiom.

NOW...

************

Well, this was going to be fun, Dean thought to himself, leaning back against the counter. Too bad his idea of fun had been stretched quite a bit toward the masochistic over the years. Veronica glanced back and forth between him and Jo. He returned the look evenly. He didn't want any part of the coming conversation, but he knew she deserved to learn why her world had vanished under a cloud of black smoke and pain. She'd more than earned it after surviving so long in the camps.

Dean was reminded of her experience every time their eyes met. While her reappearance in the kitchen had stunned him for a split second, all the soap in the world couldn't hide the devastation her soul cried out against. The promised blonde hair was almost white, the pale, pale color a shade darker than Jo's, setting the incredible blue of her eyes off even more. Her features, though far too thin for both her face and his tastes, were more than pretty enough that he'd have taken a shot at her in the old days. And he'd be willing to bet there was a knock-out body just waiting for a few good meals to show itself. Well, that was if he bet on anything anymore.

Yet it wasn't anything physical that kept pulling his eyes back to her. Jo was just as beautiful, even more so with her gentle curves and confidence. No, it was that peek behind the hidden door in her eyes, the spark she'd thrown at him back at the truck when he'd cut her arm open. She wasn't dead inside, not by a long shot, and that kind of strength called to him, injured and beaten down though it might be.

And he needed to start paying attention to the conversation. He had secrets of his own to protect and he couldn't do that if he didn't know just how much Jo was giving her. He'd known Jo longer than almost anyone else still living. She wouldn't betray him, but he wouldn't put anything past her if she thought it was in his best interest. Unfortunately, their concepts of Dean's best interests had clashed more often than not since he'd clawed his way back top-side.

"Dean already told me that demons were real and a whole bunch of things I could use to test for the regular strength ones. He didn't go into much detail about the super-charged ones. Just that it was better to not get close enough to attempt the tests." Veronica's succinct summary drew an unexpected smile from his lips. He hadn't been too sure she'd absorbed anything in the truck. Exhaustion had been clear to read in every blink of her eyes. He made a mental note to not underestimate her recall capability in the future. "But I need to know why more than I need to know what. I'm going to go out on a limb and assume demons have been around for a long time. Why then? What was so special about May 2012 that made them go all 'Exorcist' on us?"

"You're right about that part. Demons have been around as long as humans have been. There's always been a struggle between demons and hunters. They do their best to take over, corrupt and kill as many people as they can before we send their asses back to Hell."

"I guess Hollywood got it right for once." The attempt at humor didn't make it past the words. Something floated through her oh-so-expressive eyes, the blue darkening for an eye blink.

Dean's own eyes narrowed the slightest bit at the sight. There was a story behind that look. With a mental slap he pulled himself up. He wanted no part in Veronica's past. He had enough of his own troubles to deal with. He was only there to see what information she could give him about the camps. He wasn't going to pass up such a golden opportunity.

Jo was nodding, the cup of coffee she'd poured earlier making a trip up to her mouth. Dean was fairly certain it was more than a bit cold, but he didn't call her on the stalling tactic. She was performing the brunt of this little operation. "Mostly, but it's not as easy to get out of Hell as they portray it. Demons can be summoned. Some of them hitch a ride after a more powerful demon who's lucky enough to find a crack to squeeze through."

"But that's not what happened, was it? Those might account for, what, a couple dozen possessions in a year? What's behind door number three?" She was quicker on the uptake than Dean had given her credit for. Another little fact to tuck away in the Veronica, Veronica Mars file.

"Exactly. Except it's not a door, it's a gate. A Devil's Gate, a literal doorway to Hell." If he'd thought Jo would pull her punches he'd have been wrong. She was giving it to Veronica with both barrels. If he hadn't known any better he'd have sworn Jo was testing the other woman, pushing to see just what she could take. Yet there was no reason for it he could see. Jo continued, never looking away from the other woman. "They can only be opened under very specific circumstances with very specific tools." He noticed she failed to add the very specific people bit.

"Someone opened a Devil's Gate. Someone let the demons escape. Why? Why would anyone want that?"

Dean could see the grief and misery rise up in her eyes at the thought. If he'd lost everything and everyone he'd ever known to someone else's asinine mistake, he'd be more than a little pissed as well. He'd lost enough of his life to demons. But trying to explain how any good could come out of the mess was going to take a much better spin doctor than him.

Leaning forward, Jo clasped her hands around her arms, nails digging in so hard he could see little red half moons forming. "I don't think it was to let demons out. I think it was to let a soul escape." It was all conjecture on their part, combined with the little bits of information he'd pulled from demons he'd caught. He and Jo had gone over and over the possibilities. If it had been a demon, why hadn't any of them taken credit? Why had it stayed open for a week before locking down tighter than Fort Knox again? Why had it remained closed if they knew how to do it? There were more than enough demons running around top-side to take over most of the known world. Surely such a huge accomplishment was worth a couple of bragging rights.

There was only one logical possibility Dean could come up with and it wasn't a demon. Jo agreed with him, despite the lack of evidence. Only one person would be stupid, and crazy, enough to risk releasing a horde of demons on the off chance that one particular soul would be hanging around the Devil's Gate. Just because their father had lucked out didn't mean a repeat performance was guaranteed. If Dean ever managed to find his brother it was the first question on his list.

"Soul? As in a human soul? People really go to Hell?" Veronica sounded as horrified as Dean had felt when the hellhound was ripping into him.

"Sometimes. Most of them deserve it. They sell their souls in exchange for power or wealth or fame. But there are others." He noticed the studious way Jo avoided looking in his direction. They'd gone around and around on this one. If he could have stopped Sam, he would have in a heartbeat. An eternity in Hell was far less painful than the knowledge of the damage his release had done. The price of his freedom had been too high.

"Others? What about them?"

"There are others who are so desperate, they offer their very souls to save someone they love. It's a selfless act, Veronica, but it carries the same cost."

Her expression was more thoughtful than angry, the disbelief shoved aside in favor of logic. Dean had to admit he was glad to see it. He couldn't deal with a weeping and wailing woman at the moment. A pissed off one would be hard enough as it was. Jo was ripping open every wound he had. "So no matter what the reason they go to Hell? That doesn't seem exactly equal."

"These people made deals with demons, whether they knew it or not. There's always only one price, no matter the reason."

"Do you have any confirmation that's what actually happened? You said you thought the Gate was opened to let someone out. That's not proof." Veronica sounded more than a little like a TV show detective, her face and eyes intent.

"No, it's not," Dean said, speaking up for the first time. "But when every demon tells me the exact same story even I start to get the idea." And that was as far as he was going down that road voluntarily. He wanted to see what she came up with on her own.

Veronica looked back and forth between them, her blue eyes almost shining as she worked the pieces through in her head. "The demons told you it wasn't one of them. And I'm going to guess they took advantage of the moment anyway."

"Yahtzee." Apparently the intelligence he thought he'd seen hadn't been a mirage after all. He nodded, pushing away from the counter and moving to Jo's side. "We think they managed to force it open much longer than it was supposed to be."

"It was open almost a week before some hunters were able to close it again," Jo said quietly. "We're still not sure how many came through."

Sitting back in her chair, Veronica shook her head slowly. "I'd be more surprised if any of them were still in Hell. A week? That had to be worse than Walmart on Black Friday."

He stifled a bark of laughter at the comparison. Veronica was also hiding away a little black humor of her own. Despite his insistence to dump her with Jo and high tail it after his brother's invisible trail, he had the feeling she was going to grow on him. "Well, we have sent more than a few back with our regards. I'm always looking to add to their numbers."

"Like the three from the van this morning? You killed them. Yet exactly how does a knife kill a demon? I saw one take a shotgun blast to the chest then get up and rip the poor guy's head off. No little knife can do that much damage." If her expression was anything to go by, she was more curious than suspicious. Dean wasn't sure whether to scare the shit out of her or just give her the basics. It wasn't as if she was going after them herself, not with Jo around to nail her feet to the floor if she got any wild ideas.

"You're right. It's not just a knife," he said, finally deciding the smallest truth was the best route. "So don't start thinking you can grab any old piece of metal and protect yourself. All that'll get you is dead." A yawn cracked open his jaw unexpectedly and he fought it, joints creaking in protest.

"And that's your cue, Dean. Go to sleep, please. Veronica will be here in the morning." Jo sent a pointed look in the other woman's direction.

Veronica nodded quickly, face full of something he thought was supposed to reassure him. "I'll answer anything you want to know. Tomorrow. Okay, later today," she added with a shrug.

His lips quirked up slightly at the display of humor. He was almost disappointed he wouldn't be around to see her grow back into the personality she'd been before the demons took over. "Fine. I'm out." He didn't wait around to see if Jo was going to add any more stipulations. She tended to take the full mile when he gave her an inch. It was one of the reasons he didn't stay very long or very often. He'd put up with the mothering from Bobby and Sam because they were family. And while he considered Jo his closest friend--his only friend really--their relationship had complications enough. He didn't want to add to them.

He heard the murmur of female voices as he climbed the stairs, but didn't strain to pick out specifics. Both women were probably starved for company not of the male variety. Who was he to begrudge them? If it hadn't been for him there would never have been a need for them to ever know of the other's existence. As soon as the thought was out he scrambled for the door in his mind, but it was too late. He hurried down the darkened hallway. All he had to do was get into the room Jo called his. Then the memories could overwhelm to their little sadist heart's content. He barely made it.

The quiet click of the latch heralded the rush of heat on his skin, the sticky, clammy feel of his own sweat and blood making itself known with every movement. The knife clenched in his fist dripped ichor, vile black and crimson. Each droplet let out a little hiss as it struck the ground, a disturbing trail of breadcrumbs any demon not even worth the name would be able to follow. But he didn't have time to hide his tracks.

A Devil's Gate had opened and all of Hell had felt the shock wave.

Even the lowly human soul standing over a rack he'd once been tortured upon.

Hell was grief and pain and exhaustion. The absolute absence of goodness. Only the fleeting vengeance of inflicting on others what had been done to him for years bore a tinge of pleasure. Yet when the Gate shook, his soul quivered in response, yearning for the feel of the sun's kiss on his face, the sound of wind and not endless screams burning his eardrums. Demons in every direction had frozen, incorporeal noses twitching like dogs after a juicy steak. He'd never experienced its like in almost five centuries. When the ground beneath him shuddered, a howl of triumph cleared the throats of demon and hounds alike. As one they turned and flew.

Dean gripped his knife as he stood over the soul, frozen for a split second of indecision. This would be his only chance. If he didn't make it in time... There were no words for what would happen to him. His hand tightened as his lips drew back, baring his comically inadequate teeth. He'd been tortured before. Devil's Gates didn't open every day.

He sliced through the restraints on the soul, leaving her to fate and her own sense of self-preservation. Then he was running, weaving like a drunken basketball player between demons. He felt hands close on him and slashed without looking, eyes focused only on the faintest of lights he could see in the distance. Shrieks fell in his wake and he was free again. The black cloud rimmed with purple hid the spot of white like a veil before letting it shine through again. Blood and ichor dripped from the knife, leaving a trail behind him. He didn't care. The light was getting brighter.

Back in Wyoming the Gate had only been open for a short time. He doubted he'd have much longer to make it. He had no illusions it was going to get any easier as he moved closer to freedom.

Transparent tendrils tugged at his ankles, trying to bring him to his knees. He jumped, swinging the knife with all of his strength. Liquid heat slapped his chest, burning where it touched uncovered skin. The tendrils disappeared and he ran. The light pulsed, growing brighter as if it could sense his approach. Anything that got between him and the light was removed in the most expedient manner. If it backed off after one slash he left it alone, but some of them were more persistent, taking multiple swings. Each delay caused his chest to constrict. Damn it, he had to make it.

Suddenly he could smell grass, dirt, clean scents from his memories. He froze, heart racing with adrenaline and not a little fear. The light was blinding in its intensity and he never saw the claw aimed at his head. He felt it slice its way down the side of his face and throat, a burning, shrieking agony he couldn't shove to the back of his awareness. The knife clattered when it hit the ground as he collapsed to his knees. Blood splattered over his hands, across the knife, the bright cherry red illuminated by the pure white light pouring through the Gate.

"Where do you think you're going, Winchester?"

It was a voice he'd hear in his nightmares for eternity, gravel grinding over concrete, and it scoured his eardrums, the tiny bones protesting the abuse. He clenched his jaw instinctively and nearly passed out from the added spike of pain. He forced his fingers back around the bone handle of the knife, keeping the movement as small as possible. The smell of freedom was so close. "What's it to you? Alistair get tired of you kissing his ass?"

"Cute. I thought we'd wiped that smart mouth out of you a couple centuries ago." It chuckled, smoke puffing from its nostrils. Dean never had found out what the hell it was or even what to call it, just that it was a denizen of Hell, was bound to Alistair and couldn't step a single cloven-hoof on Earth. It was also one of the most inventive torturers Alistair had in his stable. "Don't worry though. I never leave a job unfinished."

Looking up, he met the purple-rimmed black eyes steadily. If there was one thing he'd learned in his years under this monster's knife, it was to never telegraph. It was a lesson it would soon learn to regret. "Funny thing, neither do I." Without warning he lunged to his feet, face, throat and thighs all screaming in tandem. The knife he'd been given by Alistair himself sank hilt-deep into the demon's throat. Acid blood spurted over his hand, splashing up and burning into the open wound that was the side of his face and neck. He screamed, his eyes whiting out for a terrifying moment. He landed on the ground with a spine jarring thump, his chest aching from the demon's double-fisted shove to his sternum. Gasping in air, he scrambled around the demon, numb hand wrapped tight around the knife. The weapon was the only thing he was taking with him out of the Pit.

It shrieked behind him, wordless noises of pain and fury, a gurgle in the sound that brought a grim smile to his lips. Couldn't happen to a nicer demon, he thought as his right hand cleared the threshold of the Gate. The light intensified exponentially with every inch of mass he pushed through. Numbness filled each cell as he struggled to his feet. For the first time in longer than he could remember, he was blessedly free of pain. Even the wound covering most of the right side of his face was silent. He would have been worried except the feel of grass between his toes commanded far too much attention. Cool, damp and absolutely perfect.

There was one final shout from the demon where it stood trapped in the doorway, providing an unintentional roadblock for the next rush of demons. But Dean didn't care. He was standing on Earth once again. He knew he should be running far away, as fast as he could, yet he couldn't force a muscle to move. The light enveloped him, soothing but for a pinprick of pain in his left shoulder.

And then he woke choking in the darkness.

The air was no longer the sweet, clean scent of forest and trees and dirt. It was decaying wood, mold and dried blood. His hand protested the stranglehold he had on the knife, the familiar grooves calming him as nothing else could have at that moment. His arms were stacked one over the other on his chest. Carefully, he felt around his body, stifling a yelp when something sharp stabbed into the meat of his thumb. What the hell? Another few moments confirmed his growing dismay. Surrounded by rotting wood, lying horizontal, completely in the dark. He was lying in his own damn coffin.

Forcing a deep breath into his lungs, Dean shook off the memories. His skin was clammy with sweat, his eyes leaking wetness down his cheeks. He allowed himself one more minute to enjoy the simple pleasure of respiration then pushed to his feet. His muscles shook as if he'd tried to bench press his beloved Impala. His clothes were soaked with perspiration. He hadn't experienced a full-on flashback in months. It was something he was sure he could live without ever again. Another two measured breaths and he locked the wall back up. With luck it would stay that way this time.

He quickly gathered what he needed for a shower and slipped into the bathroom. He doubted he'd sleep after his return to Funsville, but at least he could lie down clean for a little while. Maybe the nightmares would leave off their relentless chase for once.

************


	5. Part 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** See Part One for full story notes and disclaimers.

************  
Part Five  
************

THEN...

Forcing a deep breath into his lungs, Dean shook off the memories. His skin was clammy with sweat, his eyes leaking wetness down his cheeks. He allowed himself one more minute to enjoy the simple pleasure of respiration then pushed to his feet. His muscles shook as if he'd tried to bench press his beloved Impala. His clothes were soaked with perspiration. He hadn't experienced a full-on flashback in months. It was something he was sure he could live without ever again. Another two measured breaths and he locked the wall back up. With luck it would stay that way this time.

He quickly gathered what he needed for a shower and slipped into the bathroom. He doubted he'd sleep after his return to Funsville, but at least he could lie down clean for a little while. Maybe the nightmares would leave off their relentless chase for once.

NOW...

************

Veronica stared after him long after the sound of Dean's footsteps vanished. There was a huge piece of the puzzle she was missing. She didn't need their covertly traded looks to figure that out. Her old instincts were clawing their way back to life with every passing hour she was free. It was both liberating and frightening at the same time.

"Veronica?"

She snapped around to meet Jo's honey-brown eyes. She got the feeling it wasn't the first time the other woman had called her name. "What? Sorry. What did you say?"

Jo laughed a little though the amusement never reached her eyes. "I'll admit he's worth a lingering glance or two, but it's easier to do when he's still in the room."

"That's not what..." She cut herself off with a shake of the head. There was no reason to go into defensive mode. However, Jo had given her the perfect out. What remained of her pride simply wouldn't let her take it. "I know you two gave me the bare bones version. I'm sure it would take longer than any of us want to go into everything that's happened. But I'm going to go out on that limb again and say he's a lot more involved in what happened than either of you said, wasn't he?" It was purely a guess, but from Dean's relentless attitude toward demons and the search he was all fired up to get back to it wasn't a shot in the dark either. He hadn't gotten that monster of a scar by sitting around knitting sweaters from the comfort of his living room.

A long silence filled the air between them. Jo didn't so much as blink while Veronica waited patiently for her to decide what she was going to say. She had to admit the other woman was good. There wasn't the slightest hint she had more than air floating between her ears when Veronica knew more thoughts were flying through there than a Cray supercomputer. She didn't begrudge Jo. If it was her friend, she would be just as protective. Under normal circumstances she never would have said anything, but her instincts had a mind of their own now they were awake and were quite happily dragging her along for the ride. The only reason she didn't muzzle them was the fact they'd never purposely hurt her or anyone else in her life. Somehow she had the feeling she needed this information. Dean needed her to have this information. The thought sent a shiver of apprehension down her spine. She didn't have time to analyze it because Jo was already speaking.

"That's not my story to tell, Veronica."

"But that is a yes."

"That's a 'Dean's the only person who can answer it.'" Her eyes sharpened into hawk-like focus, narrowing ever so slightly. "Any particular reason you're asking or is it just morbid curiosity?"

It was one of those times she was perfectly happy to let her mouth take over. She had a vague sense of necessity, but it wasn't anything concrete yet. She could only hope what came out would be coherent enough to satisfy Jo. Hell, she was hoping it would clear up her own confusion. She almost winced at the expression. She'd have to find a new invective. That particular one had lost all enjoyment for her suddenly. "More than once Dean's mentioned getting back out there to search for someone. I can help him."

"Really? And how's that? Veronica, you're walking bait." She didn't say it with intent to be cruel. It was more a statement of fact; one Veronica had no intention of denying.

"I was a private investigator before all-" She cut herself off and this time she did wince. "Just before. I wasn't half bad at tracking people down."

Jo leaned forward over the table, the intensity shifting. "We don't have all those nice little tools you were able to access before. No Internet. No phones. We barely have electricity. Still think you can track someone?"

Her heart thumped against her ribs in sudden double-time, the old thrill of a new case working through her veins before she was even hired. "I'm also really good at reading patterns. And I have one thing neither of you do." Jo didn't ask, just raised an eyebrow. In response, Veronica tugged up the sleeve of her stiff shirt. A series of letters and numbers scrawled their way across the tender inner skin of her forearm. Her tag. "I have this." Jo stared at the mark as if it was just waiting for her to blink so it could strike. She had to have seen one before, but her reaction was grossly out of proportion with what Veronica thought it should have been. "You did mention something about bait?"

"Yeah, but that wasn't exactly what I was referring to."

She still couldn't seem to look away so Veronica removed the offending sight by sliding her sleeve back down to her wrist. "I figured. And I'll be the first to admit I'm not much of a physical person, but I do know how to run and I'm not too stubborn to listen to the people shouting at me to do so."

Something in her words seemed to strike a chord deep inside Jo. Her mouth tightened, lips rubbing together in a way that looked painful. Her fingers tapped a rhythm on the table. Veronica kept silent. Whatever Jo was thinking, she needed to work her way through it without interruption. Even years out of the game she could recognize the look. After a few more minutes, Jo stood, one hand waving her down. "Stay here. I'll be back in a second."

It was more like five minutes, but she didn't mind. It gave her extra time to identify the fuzzy dots in her head. Connecting them would take a whole lot of alone time and a whole lot of luck mixed with a healthy dose of intuition. Hopefully it would come out of hiding as strong as her instinct had. She drank the last few drops of water in her cup and refilled it from the pitcher on the counter. The long drive had done nothing to help her dehydration. She had a feeling it would take a week at least for her body to forgive her for the abuse of the last year. It hadn't been her fault, but there was no convincing the miracle that was the human machine. It wanted what it wanted and to hell with anything else. And that should be a big 'h,' she told herself, settling herself back at the table.

When Jo reappeared, she was calmly sipping water and not having a minor panic attack as her brain finally digested the reality of Hell being a physical place and not just somewhere parents all over the world frightened their children with into doing the right thing. Thankfully the panic had settled into a stunned numbness. She knew it would wear off sooner rather than later, but she'd enjoy it while it lasted.

Setting a thick blue folder on the table, Jo sat across from her once again. She laid one hand protectively over the top, fingers splayed wide. "This is everything I have on paper. If you can find something new in here, something that will give Dean a new lead, I'll do everything I can to convince him to let you tag along."

That was quite possibly the very last thing Veronica thought she'd hear out of Jo's mouth. She knew her face resembled a gaping fish, but she couldn't seem to get it back under control. The spreading grin on Jo's face helped her enough to stutter out, "Why? I mean, thank you, really. But why the offer?" She doubted it was because they needed new information that badly. She was already going to give him everything she could strain out of her brain about the camps. Jo didn't need to bribe her into it and the other woman had to know that.

"Because I have to stay close to the Roadhouse. And Dean doesn't do alone well."

Without asking, Veronica knew this would be another case of Dean-only answers. She pulled the folder closer and flipped open the cover. Handwritten notes scrawled their way over the entire page. Even the margins were filled with numerous lines of script. Each page was the same. Some were listings of camps, others cities and towns. Still others had nothing but names and dates, columns long enough to raise bile in her throat. Maps filled the last half of the folder, pencil marks and highlighting more prevalent than the roads themselves. "This is a lot. It's going to take me more than a few hours to sift through it all. Is there any way you can stall him? Keep him here long enough to let me have a real crack at this?" If there was something to find she'd wrench it out, but she had no illusions it was going to be easy. Jo and Dean had obviously been working on it a long time.

Apparently it was right thing to say. Jo's eyes softened as she smiled, leaning back in her chair. "I can probably get you two days. Guaranteed if you string something together by tomorrow night."

It wasn't long, but it wasn't impossible either. She'd performed greater miracles in her Neptune days. She set the pages back into the folder and closed it. "You got it. Thank you, Jo. I need to... Well, this is something I have to do."

"Trust me. I understand. We've all lost in this war. It's only a matter of how much and if a person can survive it."

There wasn't much to say after Jo's synopsis. Veronica headed up to the room Jo had assigned her, the well-used blue folder carried protectively against her chest. The room was simple and functional. A twin bed, chair, small dresser and smaller closet completed its tally of amenities. It was absolutely beautiful. The overhead light was a muted glow above her, comfortably bright without the harsh glare she'd grown to despise in the camps. She changed into the sleepwear the other woman had set out on the bed and slid beneath the sheets. The cotton was cool on her exposed skin and the blanket was a comforting weight over her legs. She sat up against the headboard, setting the folder on her thighs.

It was an all too familiar feeling, despite its absence over the last five years. She'd spent more time going over cases before she went to sleep than the reading she'd always sworn she was going to get to. Now, staring down at the words that would hopefully lead Dean to the end of his search, she was glad she'd never bothered with the books. This was far more important.

She read until her eyes were taking longer and longer blinks and she woke with her chin bouncing off of her chest. Reluctantly, she set the folder aside on the small night table. Her brain would mull it all over while she slept and then she'd feed it more. She'd ask Jo for some paper in the morning. Already she'd seen curious connections she needed answers for. As she got up to turn out the light, a slight flicker from the window sill underneath the heavy curtain caught her attention. She tugged aside the cloth and a grin filled her chest with warmth.

A thick line of salt protected the window.

She set the curtain carefully back into place, ensuring the line was unbroken. The last thing she needed to do was make such a huge mistake just as she was trying to convince Dean she wouldn't get either of them killed.

Her last waking thought revolved around the incredible sensation of the pillow against her cheek and then there was nothing.

The sun stole through the tiny space between the curtain and the window to shine across her eyes. She rolled over, frowning, one arm struggling free of the covers to drape over her face and give a blessed return to darkness. Stupid sun. She just wanted a few more minutes.

The sun.

Shining on her face.

She sat upright between one adrenaline jolted heartbeat and next, the blankets and sheet puddling over her legs. The small room was just as she'd left it the night before and all the more stunning because of it.

It hadn't been a dream. The accident, Dean, Jo. All of it was real. Tears welled in her eyes and she swiped them away impatiently. It was quite all right to feel relief, but tears were not acceptable. She was free. What could she possibly have to cry about? She dressed quickly, ran fingers through her hair to straighten the probable mess and went down the hall to brush her teeth. The smell of coffee assaulted her nose as she climbed down the stairs. For once the thought of freshly brushed teeth flavor and coffee didn't bother her in the slightest. At least there was coffee.

"Morning, Veronica," Jo said from her place at the table. Veronica wondered idly how much sleep the poor woman had gotten. She hadn't heard her steps in the hallway before she'd dropped. Then again, a herd of elephants could have paraded by and she might not have noticed. "Coffee's in the percolator, food's on the stove. Help yourself."

She appreciated the make-yourself-at-home atmosphere. Without doing a thing Jo had given her something much more than merely a place to stay, even if it was only for a few days. "Thanks. What time is it?"

"A little past nine. Dean's out working on the truck."

It wasn't going to be her next question, but it might have been her third or fourth. As long as he hadn't left, he could be planting daisies for all she cared. No, she corrected herself, she would care, it just wouldn't make any difference to her if he was planting happy little flowers. She had to admit mechanic was an image that came to mind much easier than gardener. Steam curled invitingly up and over her hand as she poured a mug of coffee. The scent hit her with the full weight of memory. She could almost see the Java Hut logo emblazoned on the utilitarian tan mug in her hand. Except there was no Logan waiting at the table for her and no Mac or Wallace ready with teasing grins about her caffeine addiction, one they shared equally between them. She blew across the top of the liquid before taking a tiny sip. It burned all the way down yet she nearly groaned as the flavor slapped across her tongue. "Thank God we still have coffee beans."

"Enjoy it while you can," Jo said, a note of reality in her tone Veronica had no love for. "Because unless you can grow and roast your own beans, this'll be my last batch. My supplier is tapped out."

"That's just mean." It came out without thought and sounded as juvenile as it had when she'd said the same thing to her father.

Unlike her dad, however, Jo grinned, her shoulders shrugging up once. "I agree. But coffee doesn't grow so well up here without a greenhouse and our supply routes have taken a beating over the last couple of months. They're working on new ones."

She didn't have to say it wasn't going as well as hoped. Veronica could read it on her face. "I guess I'll have to make each sip count then."

"That's a healthy way to look at it."

"Well, that's me, Healthy-Girl." Sitting at the table with her plate of eggs and roasted vegetables, she almost felt like she had a five-course meal in front of her. The smells alone were enough to send her stomach into spasms of happiness. Jo let her eat without interruption. Once the last morsel of fluffy egg was carefully scraped up, Veronica sat back with a smile. "That was awesome. Thanks."

"You're welcome. I'm glad you enjoyed it." One corner of her mouth twitched up slightly. "Although I'm sure it could have been burned beyond belief and it'd still taste pretty good right about now."

"You're the one who said it." They both laughed and Veronica was pleasantly surprised to find hers wasn't forced. The memories, while they'd always be with her, were already fading into just that. "You have a chicken coop hidden out back as well?"

Jo nodded, taking another long pull from her mug. "And a vegetable garden. It's easiest to be as self-sustaining as possible. Dean and I are able to trade for some of the things I can't make or grow here. Surprisingly enough there are still a few stores out there that haven't been completely looted. He finds one every now and then."

It was a totally different world than the one she'd been living in for so long. Though the food had been miserable, she'd been fed twice a day. She'd never had to wonder where she'd sleep at night and she knew she'd always have at least the coveralls for clothing. Dean and Jo had to grow, find or make everything they had. It made her all the more determined to help in any way she could, to repay them for taking her in without question and sharing their limited supplies. "I went over as much of the file as I could last night. If you have some scrap paper, I could really use it." There was a pattern hidden in the lines, she was sure of it, but it was buried beneath too much extra information.

"Sure. I may even have a highlighter that still works."

"That'd be great." She glanced around the kitchen, taking in the second door leading into what appeared to be an old-fashioned mud room. "Where's the best place for me to work?" Veronica had no idea if Jo was keeping her research from Dean and if she was, she wanted no part of letting him in on it.

Jo drained the last drops from her mug and stood. "This is the best place. It's the only flat surface large enough. Spread out as much as you need to. Let me deal with Dean."

It sounded good to her, but something told her Dean already knew.

************


	6. Part 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** See Part One for full story notes and disclaimers.

************  
Part Six  
************

THEN...

"Where's the best place for me to work?" Veronica had no idea if Jo was keeping her research from Dean and if she was, she wanted no part of letting him in on it.

Jo drained the last drops from her mug and stood. "This is the best place. It's the only flat surface large enough. Spread out as much as you need to. Let me deal with Dean."

It sounded good to her, but something told her Dean already knew.

NOW...

************

Forty-six hours later, Dean was asking himself what the hell he was still doing at the Roadhouse. Sure, he liked to help Jo out when and however he could, but this was pushing things just a little too far. He'd cut and stacked enough wood to keep her going throughout the entire Colorado winter. He'd tuned her battered truck until it was purring as if it was fifty years younger. He'd even repaired the back stairs. Admittedly, he'd said he'd get the stairs done the last time he'd stayed a couple of days, but a lead from another hunter had cut his time short.

So exactly why wasn't he back on the road where he was most at home?

Because Veronica, Veronica Mars, private detective, was trying to find something both he and Jo, with all of their vast experience, had missed. And he stupidly had agreed to give her two days. Although there wasn't much Jo could ask that he wouldn't try to make reality. She'd trusted in him without fail after his return from Hell, taken him in and given him a place to heal. She did her best to take care of him, despite his efforts to the opposite. It wasn't that he didn't care what happened to him. He just had a very different perspective on what his body and mind could and couldn't handle. Jo knew a little of what had happened to him in the Pit. How could she not when his nightmares woke them both every night for months after he'd crawled top-side? She'd probably guessed even more, though she'd never said word one to him about it. But anything she could come up with would never even begin to scratch the surface.

With a sigh, he tossed the covers off and rolled to place his feet on the floor. Early morning sunlight glowed on the opposite side of the room, a cool light that promised another crisp day ahead. He had no problems with a lack of warmth. The truck needed one more go over then it was time to pack up. Dawn tomorrow would see him on the road, new lead or no new lead. He'd never had any issues finding demons to interrogate before. He doubted it'd be much harder this trip. Their overconfidence in their invulnerability made them easy pickings for people who knew what to look for. Not a one he'd captured had thought they'd run into a hunter who could send them back to hell, let alone the one with a weapon rumored to end their existence.

He showered quickly then went downstairs to start the percolator. Jo would be up in another half hour or so. It frustrated her to no end he always woke before her. He'd laugh and tell her it was because she was lazy and pampered, but the truth was nowhere near as "Leave It To Beaver." He hadn't been able to sleep longer than four hours at a stretch since his return from Hell. There were few days he felt as if he needed more. Those long, long drives lasting two and sometimes three days without sleep at all? The ones Jo worried constantly over? Yes, he was tired at the end of them, but he'd never been afraid he'd drop off at the wheel because of lack of sleep. It was only one of the small things Hell had changed in him. Unfortunately, there were more than a few much larger changes he really didn't like to think about. Thinking led to wondering which led to black holes of doubt staring him right in the face. Because on those rare days Dean couldn't pretend he was truly human anymore.

An unexpected clatter from the kitchen pushed his downward spiraling thoughts to the back of his mind and had his hand reaching for the knife sheathed horizontally at the back of his waistband. He gripped the bone handle, the smooth striations familiar and comforting. He cleared the doorway in a rush of movement only to freeze two steps to the side of it.

"Jesus, Dean. Scare a girl half to death, why don't you."

Veronica. He released the knife, mouth compressing into a tight line. "What are you doing up so early?"

She wasn't just up, she was fully dressed, with a steaming cup of coffee and papers strewn all over the table in front of her. It didn't appear as if she'd come down only a couple of minutes ahead of him. How he'd missed the scent of the coffee brewing was beyond him. "I had a few more things I wanted to double check before my brief this morning." The sparkle in her blue eyes took any sting out of the words and he almost smiled. She hadn't merely adapted to her freedom, she'd thrived in the two days since their arrival. While he doubted she'd ever fully recover the woman she was before the demons were freed, this Veronica had to be a close second. He also had to admit to himself he liked her. He hadn't spent too many hours in her company as he'd been outside for the majority of the time and she'd been at the table poring over her papers, yet her quirky humor and growing displays of backbone called to something inside him. It was a part of himself he hadn't experienced since before he'd gotten chomped by a hellhound. It was a painful revelation, one he wasn't sure he could afford with the horrendous choices he had to make out on the road.

"And did they work themselves out like nice little facts?" If he hadn't known any better he'd have sworn he was flirting with her, but since that part of him had died long ago, he called it teasing instead. The little bit of human normalcy felt incredibly good. He felt her gaze following him as he poured his own coffee and sat at the table to her left. "Sometimes they're a bit more stubborn than they should be."

"True, but if there's one thing I have in abundance, it's an aversion to letting a puzzle sit unfinished."

"Yeah," he said absently, the sentiment behind the words eerily familiar as they struck a chord in his chest. He coughed to clear his throat and met her gaze steadily. "Reminds me of someone I used to know."

He must have given more away than he'd thought because her eyes narrowed, head tilting slightly off to the right. "The same person you're looking for?"

It was a quiet question that gave him every opportunity to back away from the subject as fast as his legs could carry him. He held her gaze, the shocking blue neither judging him nor encouraging. If he wanted to tell her, she'd listen, but she wasn't going to ask for more than he wanted to give. "My brother." The words were out without conscious decision and then there was no stopping them. "Sam. I don't where he is, but I'm sure he's out there somewhere. Well, ninety-five percent sure. For two decades my family did everything in our power to end every demon, every creepy-crawly we came across. If it killed humans it was fair game. We kind of made a name for ourselves. They would want to take their time with him. And if Sam was free you can bet your ass we would have found each other by now. No, they have him trapped somewhere." As long as it wasn't back down in the Pit itself, where he couldn't go if he wanted to, Dean would find the hole and erase it from the map once he had his brother safe.

He watched a myriad of expressions fly over her face, each so fast they blurred into an indistinguishable mesh. She finally settled on a carefully blank mask he had to wonder if she'd had before her time in the camps. "I hope he really is out there. There's nothing more important than family."

Of all the possible responses that could have come out of her mouth, it was very close to his dead last choice. He felt a tingle in his chest as she held his eyes steadily, every word she'd said mirrored in them. "Who?" He didn't need to say anything else. If she'd meant it, she would know what he was really asking.

"My dad. Former Sheriff Keith Mars. It was just him and me for so long. We took care of each other. They killed him when they made their first big push into my home town. You know, wrong place, speaking up at the wrong time. That kind of thing."

"I'm sorry." For so much more than just her father. But it was the one thing he couldn't say. He took a long gulp of his cooling coffee and steered the conversation back toward much safer territory. "Since you're here and I'm here, what have you got?"

She smiled a little, not fooled in the least by his oh-so-casual shift of topic, but she went with him anyway. He didn't bother to analyze the relief settling into his gut. He knew he was an emotional coward. "So this is a mark up of the camp locations you know of. It's fairly accurate but it does have one rather glaring exception." She separated sheets of paper one at a time from the chaos in front of her and slid them within arm's reach. "This area is one you don't have listed. I overheard a lot of demons talk about it over the past few months. It's amazing how some people really have no idea what they're giving away in simple conversation. Demons are even worse than humans."

The disgust in her voice was old business so he didn't ask. Instead, he focused on the highlighted portion of the map. Deja vu crawled up his spine. He knew that area well. It was the very place he last saw his father, where he killed old yellow eyes and where hundreds of demons had escaped from hell when Jake had opened the Gate with the Colt. Disappointment followed the initial rush of expectation she'd raised in his gut. "I've been there, Veronica. There's nothing but an old cemetery. No camp, no demons." At least not after he was finished with them. He hadn't really expected anything to come out of this extended stay anyway. His voice was sharper than he intended, but it didn't change the truth of his words. "I think you've been snowballed, sweetheart."

"Then why have people been transported up there every two weeks for the last six months? They're planning something and using us to do it."

He held her gaze with narrowed eyes, chest tightening with each passing second. Yeah, he'd been back to the Devil's Gate in Wyoming, but it had been almost a year ago. "Every two weeks?"

"Like clockwork. And none of them came back." There was pity laced throughout the words, a sense of 'that could have been me' Dean had to appreciate.

"Did you get anything about why they were taking them there? What was in the area that was of so much interest to them?"

She tugged out another sheet of paper, handing it over with a small smile. "This is everything I remember being mentioned about it, even remotely. But what it all boils down to is the demons have a special project they're working on and it's not going as expected. They're using the people as fodder for something. I couldn't find out what, only that it's big and all of the demons were damned happy to be involved."

He read quickly through the paper, every word pulling more bile up from his stomach. Yeah, there was something big going on up there. Even if it didn't involve his brother, he was headed for Wyoming tomorrow. A plot this big had to be stopped. Anything that gave demons a happy was something he was more than willing to throw a wrench into. A giant, shattering one was always his favorite. A thought tickled at the back of his mind and he looked up to see Veronica waiting patiently, sipping coffee. "How did you get all of this? It's a lot to remember with everything else going on in the camp." There wasn't the least hint of suspicion in his tone, though how he'd kept it out he'd never know.

Her smile spread, but it wasn't amusement and showed exactly how much she'd been through since the demons took over. "It's what I'm trained to do. I was a licensed private investigator. It was my job to observe, gather information and remember. I was trained by the best and I was damn good at it."

He wasn't about to argue her ability with the evidence right there in front of him. But the lingering grief in her eyes pulled something else entirely out of his mouth. "So who did train you? He or she would be proud to know you haven't lost a bit of it."

"My dad did."

The former Sheriff Keith Mars, the one who'd been killed without ever being given the chance to find out why the world had exploded around him. Though he'd believed he couldn't hold any more, guilt settled even heavier on his shoulders. Veronica was obviously still mourning her father. He knew what it felt like to lose someone he considered a hero, who taught him the most important things about life and staying alive at the same time. "I'm sorry," he said once again, feeling more useless than he had since he'd crawled barely healed out of Jo's borrowed bed a little over a year ago.

"Which is why I have to go with you." She leaned toward him, face determined and eyes boring into his. "I finally have a chance to take some action against the ones that killed him. He's waited long enough for vengeance."

"Vengeance, revenge, they mean nothing to the dead, Veronica. And going after either only leads to more death and misery for all involved. Trust me on this one."

"Isn't that what you're doing?"

"I'm trying to find my brother. I'm trying to save a life."

"And getting just a little revenge on some demons along the way? I watched you kill that demon. You can't tell me you didn't enjoy it."

His mouth opened to deny it, but the words jammed somewhere in the vicinity of his lower ribs. He had enjoyed it, more than a little bit. Yet he wasn't going to drag someone into his mission, especially someone who wouldn't last all of three seconds against a low level demon, let alone one of the high-powered badasses he'd been running into more and more lately. "Look, I appreciate this information. Really. Stay here with Jo and keep up the great work. One of you can pass it on to me over the radio. I'm sure she'd like the company."

"So that's it? Thanks for busting your brains, sweetheart, but stay in the little house where you belong? I've been in dangerous situations before and came out of them just fine."

"Not like this you haven't. These aren't cheating spouses trying to hide their little trysts. These are demons from Hell itself. You've lost enough because of me, Veronica. I'm not going to be the one who gets you killed less than a week out of the camps as well."

The words rang like a bell in the sudden silence of the kitchen. Dean swallowed tightly, watching as her brain put two and two and five together and came up with all the correct answers. He pushed the chair away from the table with a scrape and stood, turning his back to her expressive eyes. He didn't need to see the disgust in them to feel any worse than he already did. Even if he did manage to find Sam and kill every demon they'd let loose on the world, it would never make up for what he'd caused. He leaned both hands on the small counter and stared blank-eyed at the cabinets. His gut was roiling, a flash of heat across his raw nerves. Through the white noise filling his ears, he heard her stand quietly behind him, her footsteps measured and even as she came up beside him. Concentrating on simply not moving, on keeping the memories locked down, he never saw her hand move. The feel of her fingertips trailing down the scar over his cheek and jaw was so unexpected, he acted without thought, without anything except the instinct to protect himself.

His left hand gripped her wrist and tore it away from his skin, digging hard into soft flesh as his right flashed out to seize around her throat. Her pulse fluttered frantically beneath both hands, yet when he came back to himself, her gaze was steady, unafraid and strangely compassionate. She didn't tug against his restraining hands, somehow understanding the razor's edge he was walking. His skin tingled where it met hers, sending waves coursing up the length of his arms and down his spine.

"What did they do to you down there, Dean?"

Her words snapped the paralysis locking him in place and he released her so quickly he stumbled away from her into the table before he could get his feet back underneath him. The bile he'd choked down earlier came up in a rush and there was no stopping it. He almost didn't make it outside before the coffee he'd drank burned its return trip past his throat. He collapsed to his hands and knees in the damp dirt two steps down the stairs he'd just fixed the day before. Only this time it wasn't the memories making him sick. No, he'd learned how to deal with those. He'd proven that to himself the night of their arrival.

It was the calm acceptance in Veronica's eyes as he held her life in his hands. The fact he could have so easily killed her without even knowing it. He could still feel her heartbeat thumping against his right palm. All because he couldn't keep his shit together enough to stop his fool mouth from saying things it shouldn't have.

He swiped the back of one hand across his trembling lips as his stomach tried to decide if it wanted to eject its own lining in addition to the coffee now fertilizing the straggly grasses. By the time it settled enough for him to push back onto the balls of his feet, he could sense her standing on the steps behind him, could feel her eyes on him like a physical weight. "Go ahead and say it. I'm sure I deserve it and more." Every syllable scraped its way over his abused vocal chords and he swallowed carefully to ease them. It didn't help.

She moved closer, stopping just a few feet away. "And I'm sure the demons in Hell did more than enough damage for everyone left up here. A couple of times over, I'm thinking. So no, I'm not going to say whatever it is you think I'm supposed to have pent up inside me."

"Don't you want your revenge?" He stood, whirling around to face her. She didn't back away, merely stared up at him as if she faced down enraged men a foot taller than her every day. He held his arms out wide, leaving his body defenseless. "Well, here I am. I'm the guy it all falls onto at the beginning, middle and end of the day. If I hadn't been so damned selfish, if I hadn't made that damn deal in the first place, Sam wouldn't have opened the Gate to get me out. Every person you knew wouldn't be dead and the world wouldn't have ended in a cloud of black smoke."

Silence fell between them and he waited for her expression to change, waited for her to realize he wasn't exaggerating about Hell, about any of it. But when she did speak, it wasn't to do any of that. "I heard you and Jo talking that first night, you know. My dad always told me the habit would only lead to trouble, but in this case I'd have to disagree with him. Who did you save, Dean? Who did you offer your soul in exchange for?"

He couldn't answer as his arms dropped to his sides, muscles suddenly lifeless.

"Because I'm going back out on my little limb and bet it was your brother Sam. Jo told me a little about your family's history. I put puzzles together pretty well, Dean. What I overheard and what Jo told me later was more than enough. It sounds to me like you, your dad and brother, were all each other had in a world most people couldn't have survived, let alone thrived in." She took the last two steps until she was far into his personal zone, one slender hand raising slowly to rest over his chest. "Maybe I understand desperation a little better than you'd think."

His lungs stopped, frozen in the simple acceptance of her words. Her hand burned through the thin cotton of his shirt, sending those disturbing waves of sensation down his spine again.

"And nothing you say will convince me you knew what Sam would do."

"But I would have done the exact same thing if he was the one being tortured in the Pit and to hell with everyone else."

She smiled and shook her head, two fingers tapping gently. Each beat reverberated all the way down to his toes. He wanted to move away from her touch, wanted to pull her hand away but couldn't seem to get his muscles into gear. The tiny wisp of a woman held him in place with a hand and a smile. "No, you wouldn't, Dean."

"Really? And you know this because of all of our quality time together?"

"No," she repeated, leaning close enough he could feel the warmth of her body along the front of his. "Because you didn't offer up the world to save him. You only offered yourself. So look somewhere else for condemnation, Dean. You won't find it here." She stepped back without warning, taking the stairs in one extended stride while he stood staring after her. "And I'm coming with you. You need me, even if you don't believe it."

He stood in the crisp air for long minutes, simply breathing and trying not to think about what she'd said. It didn't work. 'You only offered yourself.' Would he have opened the Devil's Gate for Sam? Would he have risked the entire world? His soul, well, that had been a no brainer. It had been his to give and a small enough price to pay. Veronica's confidence aside, he couldn't honestly say if he'd have been strong enough to let Sam stay dead if it had cost more.

But was that confidence worth the risk of taking her along? Her investigative skills aside, she'd probably never killed anything more threatening than a mosquito in her life. Then again, she had known where the special project camp was. She also had an insider's knowledge of how they worked and what kind of numbers the demons kept available. The tattoo on her arm they both carefully ignored talking about was another asset. He didn't like where his brain was going with that particular line of thought. But she had been the one to insist she was going. He was merely weighing the odds. He looked up at the back door, eyes narrowing.

Without conscious thought, he'd made his decision. Apparently, Veronica had less than twenty hours to learn a crazy amount of information. She needed to get started.

************


	7. Part 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** See Part One for full story notes and disclaimers.

************  
Part Seven  
************

THEN...

But was that confidence worth the risk of taking her along? Her investigative skills aside, she'd probably never killed anything more threatening than a mosquito in her life. Then again, she had known where the special project camp was. She also had an insider's knowledge of how they worked and what kind of numbers the demons kept available. The tattoo on her arm they both carefully ignored talking about was another asset. He didn't like where his brain was going with that particular line of thought. But she had been the one to insist she was going. He was merely weighing the odds. He looked up at the back door, eyes narrowing.

Without conscious thought, he'd made his decision. Apparently, Veronica had less than twenty hours to learn a crazy amount of information. She needed to get started.

NOW...

************

As soon as the door closed behind her, Veronica allowed her hands to shake as much as her insides. Holy crap. After watching Dean deal with the demon who'd chased her, she'd had the thought she never wanted to make Dean mad. It was no longer merely a thought.

She could still feel phantom fingers around her neck, tensed and ready to squeeze tight. Her wrist ached deep inside where he'd almost ground her bones into tiny pieces. But she could also feel the lingering sensation of his scar beneath her fingertips. The skin had been curiously smooth and sent sharp jolts of heat up her arm. What kind of injury could have that kind of residual reaction? It was fully healed and had the look of one that had been for a long time. She had to wonder if he'd gotten it in Hell and if it had come back with him. If she'd managed to convince him to take her with him, she'd ply Jo with a few more carefully worded questions.

Her whole body trembled, the residual rush of adrenaline leaving her empty and cold inside. Dean had scared the shit out of her, no question about it. But it had been the speed with which he'd moved, not his actions itself that had caused her heart to pound and her hands to break out in a cold sweat. Normal people could not move that fast. Yet despite every logical sense, instinct had kept her from struggling, kept her from striking out at him. Even the blank-eyed stare that had finally dissolved into horror hadn't set her off. She knew he wouldn't hurt her. She also knew it had been phenomenally stupid to touch him without either his permission or his attention.

Then why had she?

It was a question she wasn't touching with a fifty-foot pole at the moment. If she got through the next month without doing anything else quite so suicidal she might get back to it. Maybe.

Dean's boots thumped quietly behind her as he climbed the back steps. She got the feeling he was deliberately making noise. Whether it was to warn her so she could escape before he entered or so she could ignore him as he made his, she wasn't so sure. She drew in a deep breath and stilled the remaining shakes with an effort she'd have laughed at once upon a time. If Dean thought she was frightened of him, it would be even harder to get him to agree to take her with him. Her arrogant assertions aside, she was well aware she had nothing to force him into not leaving her behind tomorrow. She turned and sat in the chair that had somehow become hers over the past two days and shuffled a few papers around. The door clicked open and she glanced up nonchalantly. There was a look in Dean's eyes she didn't recognize. It wasn't humor. It wasn't annoyance. But it was something alive and growing. She hoped she'd have time to figure it out.

He leaned both hands on the back of a chair, pressing his weight into it as it creaked slightly. "If you're so dead set on going out there, you have some things to learn and learn fast."

Her heart stopped altogether for one long second as she replayed his words. Holy crap. What had she said to change his mind? She didn't have time to wonder because he was already going on.

"Write everything I say down then memorize it. If you can't repeat it verbatim by the time I start the truck, I swear I will chain you to the back porch and take the key with me. It's not just your life you're risking. I can't afford a liability who doesn't even know the most basic of exorcisms."

A smile tugged at her lips, but she squashed it ruthlessly. She didn't want him to think she wasn't taking him seriously. In fact, she was in perfect agreement. She'd been planning to ask him to continue the monster lesson he'd started in the truck anyway. No, the smile was in response to the probably unhealthy level of relief she felt. He just wanted her to memorize a bunch of stuff. Unless he suddenly started speaking Swahili, she was as good as packed. Her memory had been on the high side of good even before she'd started her investigative training. She grabbed the pencil and flipped over sheets of paper until she found a blank side. "Ready whenever you are."

He shrugged once then crossed the room to pour a cup of water. He swished it around his mouth a bit, spitting it out into the sink. After refilling his coffee, he sat across from her and wrapped both hands around the mug. "First thing you need is a little lesson in Latin."

Two hours and thirteen pages later, Veronica sat back, brain cramping from the avalanche of information he'd thrown at her. The internal smile had disappeared after the third exorcism and she'd started subtracting hours of sleep after the fifth page. Yes, her powers of recall were excellent, but it was still a hell of a lot to learn in less than one day. Dean had covered everything from how to identify some of the most likely nasties they'd run into on the road to which ones they could only run from as fast as possible. Thankfully there were only a few in the list of the second compared to the first. Her eyes scanned down the first page, a tiny part of her whispering she'd bit off more than she could chew. She squashed it ruthlessly. Dean had survived Hell. The least she could do was manage to remember a few simple sheets of information.

"Still want to come along?"

It was a straight question, no sarcasm or innuendo in it. His eyes matched the tone, steady, hard, unapologetic. It only reinforced her decision. "You haven't scared me off that easily."

"Okay." He stood, going over to the sink to rinse his mug. "Weapons training starts at 1400. Have you ever fired a gun?"

"Um, once. My dad took me to a shooting range. He wanted me to at least know the basics in case, well, just in case."

He nodded as he headed for the doorway leading to the rest of the house. "Good. Then if you shoot me I'll know it wasn't by accident." He didn't wait for an answer before disappearing from her sight. It was probably better that way. She didn't know what she would have said to that if he'd given her time to think about it. Knowing the way her sarcastic nature was returning to life, she doubted it would have been something calming and non-confrontational.

Then again, maybe that'd been his plan. They were going to be spending a lot of time together in the very near future without another soul for company. If he could rile her with a mere handful of words, they both were in huge trouble. She pushed the idea aside and turned back to her sheets of homework. One eyebrow raised involuntarily as reality slapped her upside the head. She'd asked for it. Now she had to step up and prove she wasn't just all talk.

About ten minutes later, Dean came back downstairs with a heavy duffel thrown over one shoulder. He smirked as he passed her when he saw her mouthing exorcism number one to herself and she merely smiled in return. He shrugged and left as silently as he'd entered, the front door closing quietly behind him. She went through the exorcism twice more, using every bit of knowledge she'd picked up in language classes during school. Spanish and French were only related to Latin, but she was able to figure out the gist of most of the sentences. She didn't need to know precisely what she was saying for it to work. She only needed a road map to keep it in order in her head.

She'd made it through one full iteration with only two small stumbles when Jo entered the kitchen, a waft of sweet smelling air washing out in front of her. The other woman had been in and out while Dean had heaped information at her, not interrupting the flow of words. "Morning again, Jo. The coffee should still be hot."

"Thanks. Dean told me he's agreed to let you go with him." She stopped next to Veronica, damp hair clinging to her neck. "I don't know what you said to him, but it worked. I couldn't get anywhere with him last night."

Veronica didn't ask when the other woman had had the time. The three of them had spent most of the evening in the kitchen together. Veronica scribbling notes, Dean packing shotgun shells and Jo going over lists of things she wanted Dean to keep an eye out for while he was on the road. Her cheeks flushed slightly and she looked down quickly. Wow, she'd missed that one completely. Despite their obvious closeness, Veronica hadn't gotten the 'we're sleeping together' vibe from either of them. Apparently her sensors needed a bit of adjusting after so long away from normal human relationships. "Uh, yeah. I appreciate you trying anyway. This morning all I did was piss him off, really."

She chuckled, her smile giving Veronica a glimpse of the carefree young woman Jo might have been without demons and Devil's Gates in the world. "I glad you did. He also told me you know about a hidden camp."

"It wasn't enough for him to change his mind though. That came later."

"Once Dean gets something in his head it almost takes an act of God to get him turned around." Glancing around the kitchen quickly, Jo's expression grew serious. When she met Veronica's gaze, her brown eyes were clouded with worry. "Come with me for a few minutes. There's something I want you to see."

"I have a lot of memorizing to do here, Jo."

"This won't take very long."

With a sigh, she set her notes aside. Wherever they were going, she could run through the exorcism there just as well as while sitting at the table. Having a distraction might even be better in the long run for her. She doubted every demon they came across would just politely stand still while it was exorcised. Shoving the thought aside, she followed Jo out the back door, down the small walk and onto the tiny trail leading into the woods. The day chilled immediately once they passed under the wide spread branches and Veronica felt goose bumps crawl up her arm. She started the exorcism, enunciating clearly in her head, her mouth moving ever so slightly with each word. She only made it halfway through before Jo halted in front of a pile of rocks nestled along a line of towering trees. They looked like some kind of evergreen to her, but that was the closest she could come to naming them. After Dean's crash course that morning she now knew more about demons than she ever had about dendrology. The only reason she even knew the word was due to a tree-hugging biology professor her first year at Hearst. Nameless though they'd stay, she had to admit they were beautiful specimens. She looked from Jo to the trees and back, wondering exactly what was so important about this place that she needed to see it just then. But Jo wasn't looking at the trees. Her attention was focused solely on the rocks heaped among the trunks.

Veronica frowned, turning back to them with her observer's eye. This time she saw it. The rocks weren't simply tossed around the trees in any old haphazard fashion and left to create their own pattern. Now that she bothered to really look, she could see the cairn-like shape, the elongated slope of the peak. "Who..." She couldn't finish the question. If there was an actual person beneath those rocks she did not want to know.

"That's not just one 'who,' Veronica," Jo said, finally looking up to meet her gaze. "There's a stone for every human Dean has killed because of a demon. Whether he used the knife on them or if they didn't survive the exorcism."

Her blood ran cold as the words sank into her. Her eyes traced the length, brain automatically calculating how many rocks had to be there. It was like one of those jelly bean jar contests that used to be so popular, only this wasn't a contest she would ever want to enter. There had to be hundreds, maybe even a thousand. She swallowed tightly, forcing moisture into her suddenly too dry mouth. "Why did you bring me here?"

"Because you need to understand him. You know Dean was in Hell, literally. He didn't escape it unscathed. He's different, harder than he used to be." Jo grabbed her arm, fingers digging into the muscle just a fraction shy of painful. "Other hunters, what few he's willing to be around if they're here at the same time, get to thinking he doesn't care about anything, that all he's after is destroying demons and taking revenge for everything they did to him down there."

Even after she'd watched him kill the demon in the barn Veronica had never thought he was heartless. Broken, suspicious as all hell, doing anything he had to survive, yes, all of those. But uncaring? He hadn't left her in the rain by herself, had he? He'd brought her somewhere safe, where she could recover and learn how to be human again. Jo didn't give her time to respond.

"Veronica, he does care. He cares so much, he has to punish himself with this reminder of every time he fails. His words, not mine."

"I never thought that, Jo," she said softly, placing a hand on the other woman's where it still held her arm. "Don't forget, I've seen him in action. He didn't scare me off then. He won't now." He might scare the crap out of her sometimes, but she had no plans on letting him drive her away.

Jo searched her eyes for a long moment before nodding and releasing Veronica's arm. "I'm trusting you to keep him whole, Veronica. Remind him he's doing the right thing. Don't let him bury himself in guilt. He has too much to carry as it is."

And there was the real reasoning behind their tiny hike. Something shifted inside her, a cracking deep down that spilled warmth up and over her chest. The walls Jo kept locked tight had come down and Veronica could see it in the other woman's eyes. Jo was a much better actress than she'd given her credit for. She'd seen affection and caring for Dean and then this morning the tiny bit of heat which clued her into the hidden aspects of their relationship. But nothing in the past two days had pointed to such intense feelings. "You're in love with him."

"Since the day I met him." Jo's easy acknowledgment didn't match the shadows lurking in her eyes.

She didn't want to ask, didn't want to make her feel any worse, but the question was floating between them without permission. "He doesn't feel the same?"

The smile was tinged with a bittersweet longing Veronica knew intimately. She'd felt it every day those first few months before she'd locked it away. "The story of our lives. Wrong place, wrong time."

"I'm sorry, Jo. I really am." There was nothing else she could say to that. But she could offer something else. "I'll watch after him. I'll drag him back from the edge kicking and screaming if I have to. He doesn't have the monopoly on stubborn."

"Thank you." She gestured back down the small trail toward the house and started out in front of Veronica. "You know, I figured out a long time ago his feelings for me were never going to be what I wanted them to be. So I steal what I can for as long as he'll let me. Then I wait for months hoping he'll come back. Veronica, I just want him alive. Happy is a miracle I stopped believing in years ago."

"Maybe he'll find a little when we get his brother back." It was wishful thinking at its finest. The pile of rocks they'd just left behind told her Dean carried more than his share of guilt and self-imposed blame.

Jo's hand snaked out once again, stopping her in mid-stride. "Veronica, I don't think Sam's alive anymore." The words were so low she could barely make them out. "I think they hurt him bad and then they killed him. The Winchesters were pretty high up on their top ten to kill list before the Gate opened."

Her mouth opened twice before she found her voice. "Then I'll be prepared for that too." Thankfully, she'd have some time to work on a plan for that twist if it turned out to be true.

"Then I'll let you get back to your memorizing. I'm sure Dean's crash course was more than thorough." Like a switch, Jo's demeanor was back to normal, the woman hopelessly in love gone as if she'd never made an appearance. The sight was enough to plant a lump in Veronica's chest as big as her fist.

"Definitely. And I have a weapon's lesson this afternoon." The house was startlingly dim after the brightness of the forest. She blinked rapidly to adjust her eyes, heading immediately back to the table and her notes.

Plates clacked together as Jo set them on the counter. "He's a good teacher. You'll be hitting the center of the target before he's finished with you."

Veronica wasn't so sure she wanted that much familiarity with them, but if the need ever arose, she'd have to be able to hit what she was aiming at. The rest of the morning sped by as she read, quizzed herself, mouthed words and read some more. Dean walked by no less than a dozen times, the same smirk lifting his lips but he never said a word. Jo started a soup that was going to be dinner then laid out her own stack of papers on the opposite side of the table. They worked in silence, only the sound of Dean's movements, the quiet simmering of the soup pot and the slide of paper in the room.

She was stumbling through the final exorcism when Dean plucked the sheets right out of her hands. "Hey! Give those back. I'm on a deadline here."

"And since you studied through lunch I'll assume you weren't hungry. We're going to go blow things up now."

As soon as he said the words her stomach growled fiercely, her concentration broken completely. It didn't make a dent in his expression. "Fine. But if my hands shake too much to aim, it's all your fault." She snagged an apple from the pile on the counter and hurried after him. Jo's whispered 'good luck' lifted her spirits a bit. The book stuff she was confident about. The weapons? Well, not so much. She hadn't told Dean the reason her father had only taken her to the range once was because he'd given her up as a lost cause. There was no way she was shooting herself in the foot like that. But he'd know soon enough. Her only hope was to fake it well enough he wouldn't change his mind and decide to handcuff her as he'd threatened.

He stopped roughly fifty feet away from the house and dropped the duffel bag from his shoulder. It gave a sharp clank when it hit the ground. Exactly how many guns were in there? She didn't bother asking. It looked to her as if he'd brought all of them. He emptied the bag, laying the weapons out side by side from shortest to longest. A second, smaller bag he'd stuffed inside the duffel went next to them. Assuming he'd start her with the smallest, she frowned when he picked up one of the medium length ones. From her limited experience she thought it was a shotgun of some kind, but she wasn't willing to stake anything on it. With his other hand he grabbed two shells of ammunition about the circumference of a quarter and shook them lightly together. "What do you think is in these?"

She stared at them then back up to his expectant face. How the hell was she supposed to know? She'd actually opened her mouth to say exactly that when it clicked. "Salt. Those are the things you were working on yesterday."

His lips twitched up a bit as he nodded. "Good. And what does salt do?"

"It's a purifying agent. Demons, spirits, all manner of supernatural things can't cross an unbroken salt line. And they can harm the demon inside without permanent damage to the host," she said, taking one of the shells from his hand. Her fingers tingled slightly where they brushed his palm, but she pushed it down quickly. She held the round up between them as she felt her own lips match his expression.

He nodded approvingly, his expression growing into an actual smile. She nearly bit her tongue to keep it in her mouth. Holy Mother of God, that smile was a weapon in itself. She'd thought the scar was riveting and not in a bad way. Why he didn't give up the guns and violence and just charm demons out of their hosts she had no idea. They were certainly made of tougher willpower than she was to resist the slightest hint of flirt that went along with the smile. She looked down at the weapon to break the spell. She needed to concentrate if she was going to even have a chance at a good showing here.

He went on without a pause, either not noticing her stupor or ignoring it. She wasn't sure which option was the worst. "This is a double barrel shotgun. Pop the barrels, load the rounds like this and snap it back into place." He went through it twice more, quickly, the movements fluid, deadly graceful. She got the impression he could do it just as confidently blindfolded in a perfectly dark room. "Your turn."

Fumbling a bit with the sudden weight in her hands, Veronica somehow managed to juggle it all without dropping anything into the dirt. She took a moment to examine the shotgun. It looked like every one she'd seen on TV, but it was much heavier than the actors had made them out to be. The weight was clumsy to her, back balanced. She opened the barrel with the small lever Dean had used. It clicked into place, the dark eyes staring up at her expectantly. Swallowing down the nerves struggling to appear, she awkwardly placed the shells inside, ensuring she kept the muzzle end pointed away from Dean and the direction of the house. It took her two tries to get the barrels locked back into place. Dean kept his chuckle to a quiet bark of sound. She unloaded and reloaded it five more times, each repetition becoming a touch smoother. She was nowhere near Dean's facility, but she figured he wouldn't hold it against her. He did have a lifetime's worth of experience on her. "Why did you start with this one? Isn't a pistol easier?"

"Nope. There's nothing simpler than your basic shotgun. Rock salt rounds have a wide dispersal pattern. What does that tell you?"

He was like a teacher she'd once had, making her figure out the answer on her own. She wondered where he'd learned the technique. What she knew about his life didn't lend itself to teaching anyone much of anything. "Um, that I need to be pretty close to the target or it's useless?"

Nodding again, he tapped one finger on the weapon just above the pivot point. "It also means you don't have to be quite as accurate. If you aim for the chest you'll almost always hit something. You have to hold your shot until your target is within twenty feet. I know that seems really close, but any farther away and the salt just doesn't have the velocity it needs to do any damage." He gripped her shoulders and turned her to face a tree with a large X painted in green on it. "Find twenty feet."

After he stepped out of the way, she moved forward, eyeing the distance critically. Measurements hadn't been her best talent, but she thought she was pretty near it. "Here."

"You're about two feet too far away. Take one more step."

She did and stared down the tree. It was really close. Reaction time would be nothing with the speeds she'd seen demons move with. Yet Dean was still here and he'd been doing this for a very long time. It was possible. She barely kept the shotgun in her hands when he stepped up behind her, one arm reaching over her shoulder to point. Her spine tingled with that unsettling rush of energy again and she forced herself to focus on what he was saying and not what her body was telling her. Once he'd explained the cocking and safety mechanisms, he stepped away. She took a deep, mind cleansing breath and refused to look over to see if he'd noticed.

"Plant the butt in your shoulder. Make sure there's no space or you'll hurt something. I can get away with faking it, you can't. Gain eighty pounds of muscle and I'll let you hot dog it. That looks good. Move your right foot back a bit and lean forward into the shotgun. Fire when ready."

She wasn't stupid. She knew there would be a kick. She also hadn't heard Dean say anything specifically to warn her about it, despite the instruction about her stance. Figuring it was just another one of his tests, she flipped the safety catch and sighted down the barrel as he'd told her to do. Squeeze, don't yank. She heard her father's voice as if they'd been out on the firing range only the day before. It should be a surprise when it goes off. She smiled grimly at the memory, breathed out evenly and squeezed. Even expecting it, she almost got knocked on her ass.

The shotgun bucked in her hands, jumping upward so sharply, she nearly brained herself. She took a stumbling step back, struggling to keep her feet. Through it all, Dean didn't utter so much as a smile. Once she got the shotgun, and her heart, back under control, she looked up at the target. Her hands clenched around the shotgun when she saw tiny holes decorating the green paint. "Holy crap." She'd actually hit the damn thing.

"It kicks like a freaking mule, doesn't it?" That wasn't what her exclamation had been about, but if he wanted to take it that way she wasn't about to dissuade him. "It's better to let you feel it for yourself. Scares people if they're warned for some reason. Make sure it's on safe and let's go see what you hit." His eyes followed her every movement as she reengaged the safety. Keeping it pointed safely away from him, she followed him to the tree. He nodded once as his hand outlined the blast pattern. "See this spot here? That's the center of your shot. You need to come about five inches to your left to hit center mass. Not bad for your first attempt though."

The praise rolled through her with all the power of a cup of hot chocolate on a winter day. She was thrilled she'd hit the target at all. Not having him tell her she was the worst shot he'd ever seen was simply bonus points. "Okay. Let's kill us a tree."

By the end of the grueling lesson, Veronica's shoulder was screaming in surrender, her arms were so heavy she could barely lift her own hands, her abs felt like she'd done the 8-Minute Power Abs torture workout for about an hour straight and her brain was fried crispier than anything Colonel Sanders had ever thought up. Dean had not only given her more information than she'd ever need to know about every weapon they fired, he'd grilled her mercilessly on the pages he'd reeled off so quickly that morning. If he was trying to prove a point about how much she didn't know about his world, he succeeded brilliantly. But she wasn't about to back out. Not when she felt like she was just beginning to win him over. She did, however, wonder if she'd be able to get out of bed tomorrow morning. "So what's next, Mr. Miyagi? A little knife throwing?"

"Nope. I'm not letting you anywhere near a knife until you're at least moderately competent with a pistol."

Yeah, she had to admit he had a point. She actually hadn't been so bad with rifles in addition to the shotgun. But the pistols? Everything she'd learned had simply vanished once the weight of each gun settled into her hands. She'd had no problem keeping her eyes open and on the target with the rifles. Trigger squeeze and aiming was even growing habitual. The guns were supposed to be easier. She'd winged the tree a few times, but that was about it. Thankfully, he'd as much as admitted she wouldn't have much need of them since she wasn't going to be getting into fights with demons anyway. She wasn't exactly positive what he'd meant by the comment, but she didn't contradict him. She also promised herself she'd practice whenever she got the chance. "Does that mean I have the rest of the day off to finish studying?" Her voice had a touch of wistfulness she hoped Dean didn't hear. Then again, maybe he'd appreciate the honesty of it.

"You wish. Now we clean everything we fired." He held the door open for her, lips pulling back in a broad, fake grin. "We function just fine if we're covered in dirt. A dirty rifle, however, will jam and that gets us killed."

"Wait until you see me without a shower for a week. You might wish it was the rifle." She smiled when he let out a surprised bark of laughter and brushed by him into the house.

************


	8. Part 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** See Part One for full story notes and disclaimers.

************  
Part Eight  
************

THEN...

"Does that mean I have the rest of the day off to finish studying?" Her voice had a touch of wistfulness she hoped Dean didn't hear. Then again, maybe he'd appreciate the honesty of it.

"You wish. Now we clean everything we fired." He held the door open for her, lips pulling back in a broad, fake grin. "We function just fine if we're covered in dirt. A dirty rifle, however, will jam and that gets us killed."

"Wait until you see me without a shower for a week. You might wish it was the rifle." She smiled when he let out a surprised bark of laughter and brushed by him into the house.

NOW...

************

Dean tugged his shirt off and tossed it onto the chair across the room. He doubted he'd sleep much despite his fatigue. He never did the night before starting a hunt. But he always gave it his best shot, hoping one day the trend would break. His throat ached slightly, the fine muscles deep inside abused as they hadn't been in years. He discounted all the screaming he'd done down in the Pit. Talking almost non-stop for hours today had drained him like nothing had since his return top-side.

Yet for everything he'd thrown at Veronica today, she'd stepped up for it. With the rather glaring exception of being completely useless with pistols of any kind, she'd shown him a quick mind, a willingness to take direction and a slightly twisted sense of humor he'd found himself appreciating more and more as the day wore on. Even when he'd added the weapons' cleaning to the task list she hadn't let it drag her down. Maybe taking her along wasn't as bad an idea as he still wanted to believe. Jo certainly didn't think so. His jeans joined the shirt, sliding off the seat to land in a puddle of denim on the floor. He shrugged and let them lie. They'd be chillier than normal in the morning, but it wasn't anything he couldn't handle.

A soft knock drew his attention to the door. It eased open and Jo stepped into the room, flannel robe trailing down to her slippered feet. "Hey." He'd never bothered to lock his door in the Roadhouse. Anything that could bust through the wards, sigils and salt barriers to get into the house wouldn't have problem one with a flimsy little lock. Hell, anything that could even get onto the land itself the way Jo had it secured had more power than Dean wanted to ever come across without lots of backup.

Jo shut the door behind her with a quiet click and stepped closer to rest her hands on his chest. One finger traced the bottom edge of his anti-possession tattoo, her gaze roving anywhere but up to meet his. "I wanted to say goodbye."

And exactly what did that mean? He lifted her chin with gentle fingers, ducking his own to force her eyes to his. "I'm coming back, Jo. I always do." Yet they both knew this time wasn't the same as all of the others. A secret camp with a special project would have much tighter security, more demons and who knew what else keeping all comers out. He might be more, and less, than what he'd been before his time in the Pit, but he wasn't unkillable.

"Yeah. I know." Something lurked deep in the brown eyes, something more than simple worry. Something he'd never seen in her eyes before. Her finger continued its meandering way over his skin, leaving warmth in its wake.

"You going to tell me what's really bothering you?" For the first time he could ever recall, Jo froze, her face blanching slightly to leave her normally pale features practically translucent. Then she blinked and it was gone. If he hadn't been completely focused on her, he never would have seen it. As it was, he had to play it all back in his head to verify his eyes weren't playing tricks on him. "Jo? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Dean, just a little tired. It's been a long couple of days." She leaned into him, pressing up against his body. He curled his hands around her shoulders automatically, steadying her. Her lips trailed up his neck with each word, ending at the corner of his mouth. "I just want to forget for a little while."

His body responded in a familiar rush, despite the warnings his brain was throwing out. They'd never made an issue out of the physical aspect of their relationship. They were friends who happened to have sex most of the times he stayed at the house. But it had always been merely a release for both of them, a little physical comfort in the insanity of their lives. What he was feeling from Jo at the moment wasn't comfort and it certainly wasn't a need for tension relief, not after the night before. He pressed his lips to hers, stroking his tongue into the waiting warmth of her mouth. Not letting himself get caught up in the heat, he pulled away with a sharp breath. Sex aside, she was first and foremost his friend. "Jo, are you sure nothing's wrong?"

"The only thing wrong is that you're stopping to ask me what's wrong." She shrugged off the robe and he moved his hands long enough for it to fall at their feet. Underneath, she'd worn only the slippers on her feet to come to him and her body was still as provocative as it had been fully clothed on the day he'd met her. He gripped her slender hips and tugged her closer until there was not even air between them. He could take a hint as well as the next guy. If Jo didn't want to talk, nothing was going to get her to open her mouth. So he did as she asked and made her forget everything but the feel of his body on hers and the stroke of him inside her.

When he finally slept, she was curled up against his side, breathing smooth and regular. Dreams rarely haunted her after they'd exhausted each other. It was one of the few things he could give her in return for everything she'd done for him. As he drifted off, he knew she wouldn't be there in the morning.

The jeans were just as cold as he'd thought they'd be, but he tugged them on anyway in the dim light bleeding through the window. He'd lain awake for at least an hour waiting for the sun to rise, going over the plan and every detail he knew from Veronica about the special camp. Gathering the last remaining bits of clothing, he stuffed them into his duffel and zipped it closed. He'd take it out then wake Veronica. He wanted to be on the road in an hour.

He scratched the second part of the plan when he found Veronica already awake and coffee brewed. "You could have slept in a bit longer. I was about to get you."

"I know, but I was already awake. I didn't think you'd leave without me."

Accepting the mug she offered, he dropped his duffel in the hallway and followed her into the kitchen. "And why is that exactly?" Because he would have left her without a backwards glance if he thought it was the best thing for either of them. Jo's persuasiveness and Veronica's own abilities had given her the chance to prove herself. But he wanted to hear her take on it.

"Because you gave me your word. I had until this morning to pass your tests. You haven't tested me yet."

Huh. It wasn't what he'd expected at all. As for not testing her, he wanted to know what she called the grilling he'd done all day yesterday. That had been the real test. This morning was just making sure she had better than basic recall capabilities. Instead of telling her exactly that, he nodded once. The coffee was still hot enough to scald on the way down and he winced at the burn. "So let's hear it then."

In the time it took him to finish his coffee, she rattled off all five exorcisms, detailing which situations were best suited for each. She listed every monster he'd given her including their weaknesses, strengths and her expected chance of survival if caught alone without the appropriate weapon. When she finally started slowing down, he held up one hand to stop her completely. She stared expectantly across the table, eyes wide and incredibly blue in the early morning light filtering through the window above the sink. "Last chance to back out, Veronica. This is the only safe place between here and Wyoming."

She was silent long enough Dean was beginning to wonder if she would take him up on it, if she was having second thoughts. He knew he would have in her position. He would have had third and fourth thoughts as well. Yet her eyes were clear, her face determined. "I'm going with you, Dean."

"Then what do you say we go find us some demons?" He grinned, the scar along his cheek tugging with the motion.

"What about Jo? We're not waiting for her?" She trailed after him, her footsteps loud in the empty hall.

He hefted her pack, handing it over as she stumbled to a halt at his side. "Jo never comes down. It's not her thing, I guess." He'd never really thought about it, but Veronica's small noise of surprise startled him. "You know something I don't?"

"No. She just didn't say anything last night when I talked with her."

"So we're good?" Staring down into her eyes, he wondered what was going on in her head. There was something she wasn't saying, but he couldn't read her well enough to figure it out. He could only hope it wouldn't get either of them hurt in the next few days.

"I'm ready when you are." It wasn't exactly ringing with confidence yet she unlocked the door and pulled it open.

He shrugged, ushering her out ahead of him. He secured the door and double-checked the symbols etched into the doorjamb. Running his fingers over the unbroken line, he said his silent goodbyes. Something told him it might be a while before he returned. After a gentle punch to the door, he walked down the three steps and into the sunlight. Veronica waited patiently at the passenger door, her bag slung over one shoulder. He tossed their bags into the over-sized storage area behind the seats then fired up the truck. It growled to life with a huff of smoke and settled into its familiar muted roar as he aimed it down the drive.

Even after a year, it took his body almost an hour to adjust to the different feel of the truck. If he made it out of this trip alive he'd take a few days and go to the place he had hidden up in the Idaho mountains. There wasn't much he counted as important and it was getting time to remind himself what those things looked like.

They stopped two hours out from the border of Samuel Colt's broken rail lines. Veronica would have no idea of their significance, but Dean remembered everything about the night he'd killed Azazel, down to the five churches on fire with the glows barely visible from fifty miles away. He also remembered crawling out of Hell, the sight of familiar headstones a momentary relief before his world exploded in a flash of white and pain. The last time he'd come anywhere near the Devil's Gate, there had been nothing for miles. No camp, no demons and especially no special project. Unless it was invisible, and since he'd yet to come up against anything that was truly out of the visible spectrum, he doubted they'd have a problem with finding the camp itself. It was everything else he needed better intel about.

"Do you have any issues with the plan?" Veronica had nodded agreement at the time, but that was almost two hundred miles ago, plenty of time to change her mind. He was talking about the cold-blooded murder of humans after all. They would be possessed humans, whomever they found, but humans nonetheless.

"Honestly, yeah. I have lots of issues with it."

He tensed, hands gripping the worn leather of the steering wheel. And here it comes, he thought, vaguely surprised that their partnership had lasted as long as it had.

"But since I can't come up with a better one that doesn't get either of us maimed then killed, I'll squash my issues. We need information or more than one person will die. I'll take the plan with fewer casualties, thank you." She pushed a lock of hair out of her eyes, tucking it behind her ear and staring expectantly at him. "Where are we setting up shop?"

"A few miles from here. Last time I was in the area there was a ranger station in pretty good condition. It should stand up to a demon interrogation." He shrugged when she eyed him, more than a little confusion on her face. The tension eased from his hands and body at her acceptance and practicality. "It can get a little energetic."

"Right. Why do I have the feeling you're understating the potential mayhem?" And there was that humor she'd flashed more and more often over the past days.

Turning off the road and onto a partially overgrown supply trail, he chuckled quietly, returning her question with one of his own. "Why do you think we're staying this far away from the camp to do this?" It meant a much longer drive with a trussed up demon in the bed, but it couldn't be helped. The demon could not be allowed to call for help and any shenanigans it pulled had to go unnoticed.

The trail was in better shape than he remembered and the long abandoned ranger station appeared between one curve and the next. It was surrounded by trees, old and new growth mixing with tall grasses to create a scene Dean wouldn't have been surprised to see painted in one of the galleries Sam loved to gawk around in. He swallowed that thought down. He couldn't afford the softness the memories drew up in him. At least not until after he had the information he needed.

"Stay here," he ordered sharply, pointing with one finger. "Keep the shotgun loaded and spare ammo on hand. Do not open the door to anyone, not even me. If I-"

"-Can't open it yourself with a bare hand, I get in the driver's seat and haul ass back to the Roadhouse. You've said it ten times already, Dean. I'm not going to do anything stupid."

No, she was already out on the road with him, which was the stupidest thing she'd probably ever done in her life. If there was one thing he'd learned about Veronica, it was that her brain was the real weapon, not the shotgun she held comfortably in her lap. He double-checked both guns, tested the knife in its sheath and popped his door open. "I'll be back in a few minutes." He locked the door behind him, comforted by the knowledge the keys were secured inside with Veronica. He doubted there was a demon able to possess him with all the wards he had emblazoned on his body, but there were things other than demons left in the world.

With one final look over his shoulder, which she returned with a small smile, he put her out of his head. He circled the small building counter-clockwise, ducking under the few windows and stealing what glances he could at the dim interior. Curtains no longer hung from rods, if they ever had, and every surface had a thick layer of undisturbed dust. It was looking better with every step. He popped the lock on the front door quickly and entered fast and low. The room was empty, nothing but dust bunnies and furniture to greet him. He straightened with a sigh. Part one was in play.

He returned to the truck, nodding at Veronica's unspoken question. "It's good. Perfect for our use." He rested his palm on the anti-demon treated handle for a long moment then raised the unburned flesh for her examination. He bit back a smile when she unlocked the door and kept the shotgun at the ready. It wasn't pointed at him, a touch he appreciated, yet it could be in a heart beat if she needed it. His estimation of her learning curve and suspicious nature rose a notch. For once it was a trait he was happy to see. It might keep her alive that much longer. "Let's get started."

It took almost three hours to demon proof the cabin. He'd set Veronica to work on the standard protection portion of it while he painted the traps and more complicated symbols. Rarely did she have to ask him for clarification about something he asked her to do, her phenomenal memory coming out to play once again. At one point he glanced up from where he was sitting on the floor carving a ward into the underside of one of the chairs. Veronica was pouring salt into the window sills, her face scrunched up in concentration. There was an innocence about the expression, something he would never be able to explain or describe yet he felt it down to his bones. Despite everything she'd been through, she had managed to keep her inner self, her true self, clean and pure. He wondered how long it would take before his own rotted soul started to infect her with its darkness.

Frowning at the unsolicited thought, he turned back to the warding. He had more than enough trouble to deal with in his own life without adding maybes into the mix. He'd do his best to keep her alive, breathing and not possessed. She'd have to watch out for everything else. He finished the second chair and looked around the cabin. Wards, sigils, symbols, salt, traps, charms. It was as close to a demon prison as he could make it. The only thing missing was a handy demon to trap in it. Somehow he didn't think it was going to take them very long to find one. He did have the perfect bait, after all.

He met Veronica's trusting gaze and smiled slightly, hoping it looked more convincing than it felt. Nope, there was nothing bad about his plan at all.

************


	9. Part 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** See Part One for full story notes and disclaimers.

************  
Part Nine  
************

THEN...

He had more than enough trouble to deal with in his own life without adding maybes into the mix. He'd do his best to keep her alive, breathing and not possessed. She'd have to watch out for everything else. He finished the second chair and looked around the cabin. Wards, sigils, symbols, salt, traps, charms. It was as close to a demon prison as he could make it. The only thing missing was a handy demon to trap in it. Somehow he didn't think it was going to take them very long to find one. He did have the perfect bait, after all.

He met Veronica's trusting gaze and smiled slightly, hoping it looked more convincing than it felt. Nope, there was nothing bad about his plan at all.

NOW...

************

Veronica fingered the small amulet Dean had given her back at the Roadhouse with strict instructions to never, ever remove it. The small, stylized sun was strangely compelling, its rays sharp even through the shirt she wore. He'd said it was an anti-possession charm, and as long as she wore it, she'd be safe from getting taken over by a demon. It wouldn't stop them from kicking her ass then ripping it from her neck, though. It wasn't a pleasant thought and she'd immediately decided to keep the necklace hidden as best she could at all times. If a demon couldn't see it, the momentary distraction could be just enough to allow her to escape. Unfortunately, she had the feeling she'd get the chance to test her theory far sooner than she wanted.

Her part in the trap was simple--wander around a carefully chosen section of what remained of Cody, Wyoming, looking lost and helpless and wait for a demon to appear to scoop her up. Dean had assured her she would never be out of his sight. She knew quite a bit about surveillance and even she had no idea how he was going to accomplish it in a town without humans to blend in with. The last time he'd been through Cody, the town had been a playground of demons fresh out of the camps taking their new bodies for a little spin. She didn't care why they were there. She just wanted to grab one and get the hell gone. For all her big talk and confident demeanor when convincing Dean to bring her along, now that it was all real, her heart was pounding and her palms wouldn't stop sweating.

She dropped the charm, patting it back into place under her shirt, and scanned the empty street once more. For a town where only demons congregated, they were distressingly scarce. She was beginning to think Dean had been overly optimistic about their chances of success on the first try. At least he had three back up towns to try if Cody busted out. Five more minutes and she was calling it.

No sooner had the thought eased through her mind than a woman stepped out from a side street, eyes narrowed in suspicion. Veronica swallowed harshly, not having to fake the sudden jump in her already racing pulse or the panicked expression. Holy crap, what the hell did she think she was doing out on a hunt?

"And what do we have here? A little rabbit running around loose?" The woman was a few inches taller than Veronica, brown haired and brown eyed, but the description was akin to saying a thoroughbred was merely a horse. Her head tilted as they stared across the distance at one another, one hand raising to slowly waggle a finger back and forth as her irises disappeared in a flash of black. "We can't have that now, can we?"

Veronica's paralysis vanished at the gesture. Without thought she turned and ran, heart thumping hard against her ribs. She made it four rushed strides when suddenly the demon was two feet in front of her. Skidding to a halt, she couldn't get her feet coordinated fast enough to try another direction. The demon gripped her left wrist, twisting the attached arm painfully around to rip her sleeve up with the other hand. Veronica's tag was horribly clear in the bright sunlight, a damning mark that brought a smug smile to the demon's face.

"What are you doing out of your cage? Peter's usually not so careless with his toys."

The hand squeezed even harder, bringing tears to Veronica's eyes and she struggled not to flinch. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dean step up behind the demon, rifle held easily in one hand. She kept her focus on the demon, not wanting to give him away. "You'd have to ask him about that. I don't know why he does anything." It was both truth and lie. She also knew Dean would find out the answer in the coming hours.

The demon released her arm, leaning down well into Veronica's personal space. "Why don't you run now? I wouldn't mind a good chase."

"But I would."

Whirling at Dean's comment, the demon never had time to strike. The rifle cracked into her face, spinning her around as Veronica jumped out of the way. Faster than her brain could follow, Dean had a strange looking necklace looped over the demon's head and a rosary wrapped tightly around her wrists. As he stuffed a rag into her mouth, her eyes flew open, solid black focusing on Dean with what Veronica could only call recognition. He handed Veronica the shotgun, pointing around them. She got the message and stopped gawking. She wasn't there to simply watch him.

Her gaze made a circuit of the street, but the only movement was Dean and the demon as he knotted the necklace's cord tighter around her neck. A second rosary went around her ankles and then he lifted the demon over his shoulder. "Let's book."

Veronica's heart was pounding for an altogether different reason by the time she was sitting in the driver's seat, the truck's engine a muted roar under her. Dean and the demon were behind her in the bed. The demon's eyes spat hatred while he sat, calmly holding the shotgun steadily at her. It was a nerve-racking drive back to the ranger station with only Dean's shouted directions to keep her mind off of the fact they had a demon trussed up like a deer. It had worked. Holy crap, but it had worked.

She shut the truck off with a flick of the wrist, letting the reality flood through her. They had a demon and neither of them had gotten hurt in the process. Well, her arm did ache a little, but if that was the worst they were going to get, she wasn't counting it. She pushed the door open and slid from the cab, her eyes meeting Dean's over the side of the bed. His expression was dark, hard, and not the pleased one she'd thought he would have. It was close enough to her first glimpse of him standing over a dead demon that a shiver worked its way down her spine. Popping the tailgate, she took the shotgun he held out for her. She aimed it at the demon, pushing down the tremors wanting to visibly shake the weapon. She couldn't allow such a weakness to show. It didn't take a genius to figure out a demon would latch onto it quicker than a starving man a loaf of bread. She might be inexperienced, but she wasn't stupid. Dean would have enough on his hands without having to worry about her messing up his interrogation.

Following Dean, with the demon thrown over his shoulder like a sack of dog kibble, into the cabin, she kept the shotgun at the ready, thumb touching the safety. She didn't want to pop it, but she wanted it off as quickly as possible if she absolutely needed it. He set the demon none too gently into one of the chairs he'd prepared earlier, giving no indication her weight had been a burden. She set the thought aside to think about later. The breadth of Dean's shoulders spoke to a healthy strength, but carting around over a hundred pounds of squirming demon couldn't be as easy as he'd made it look.

When he'd told her the plan, Veronica had wondered how he'd get the demon secured to the chair without it attacking him. He'd explained what the Devil's Trap did, how the symbols he'd carved into the underside of the chair would eat away at the demon's power. Despite his confidence, hearing about it and seeing it actually work was something altogether different. As soon as the demon's butt hit the chair, her eyes had gone wide, black swallowing the flash of white. She glared at Dean as he released her hands only to tie them to the chair itself with a thick length of rope. Her legs received the same treatment and a last section of rope wrapped around her waist to tie at the back of the chair. After one long scan at the knots, Dean smiled, a baring of teeth more than amusement. "Let's chat."

He yanked the cloth out of her mouth, tossing it onto the nearby table where he'd laid out a selection of things he'd told Veronica would get them the answers he needed. Some of them had been fairly obvious to her and she hoped it wouldn't come down to Dean actually needing to use any of them. Others made no sense to her whatsoever. A very large part of her didn't want to find out how wrong she could be. Now that the time had come, she wasn't sure her stomach was going to sit quietly by while Dean extracted his answers.

The demon's eyes focused up at him, seeming to settle on the scar emblazoned across his face. "Winchester. I'm surprised to see you so ... corporeal. Shouldn't you be floating off wherever all the good little souls go?"

"What can I say? I just never did take direction very well." He didn't appear shocked in the least that the demon knew who he was. It was yet another reminder of how insane her world had become. "Have we met or are you just a fan?"

"Oh, I'm a big fan. In fact, I think only Retsulka is a bigger one. He says he can't wait to see you again, by the way. He owes you a little damage after your last encounter."

"Well, I can't say as I recognize the name. I've done my share of bleeding demons. You all tend to run together after a while."

Veronica didn't know which scared her more, the quiet violence of Dean's voice or his easy acceptance of the threat. She shifted her hand on the shotgun, wiping the sweat from her palms over her thighs, never taking her eyes from the scene before her.

"You spent so much quality time with him in the Pit and you don't even know his name. Alistair would be disappointed, Winchester."

Dean's face paled beneath the tan, his hand tightening into a fist at his side, but none of that leaked into his voice. "I'm afraid he and I never were the bosom buddies you seem to think. We don't exchange Christmas cards."

"He's still pissed about that knife you shoved into his throat in your eagerness to leave us."

"You mean this one?" He pulled it slowly from its sheath at his back, his lips thinning as he held in front of her face. It was her turn to pale, her eyes following the blade as if it was a cobra ready to strike. "I'm still pissed at the scar he gave me. We might just be even if you think about it."

Eyes suddenly locked on the jagged, pale flesh emblazoned forever on his face, Veronica swallowed back bile. She'd wondered only a day ago if he'd gotten that mark in Hell. It was one of those things to which she hadn't really wanted the answer. She jumped when Dean slammed the knife's tip into the table causing everything on it to rattle together. The demon blinked, but that was it.

The demon leaned back into the chair, eyes flashing black for a quick moment. "I doubt that. Now can we just get to the real reason I'm trussed up like tonight's dinner? I'm assuming you want information."

"Real quick on the uptake, aren't you?"

"And you know I'm not going to tell you jack squat. So go ahead and exorcise me back down to the Pit. I'll just escape again and we'll finish this little chat _mano e mano_."

Dean smiled and it froze the very blood in Veronica's veins. The demon wasn't smart enough to recognize the look for what it was. Without a word, Dean reached into the jug of holy water and pulled out a rag. He let it drip in between the demon's bound feet, not quite touching her. "How quickly your kind forgets exactly what I am." He didn't wait for a response, just stuffed the rag deep into the demon's mouth.

She shrieked through the rag, its tail slapping wetly down over her chin, raising smoke in its wake.

Knowing it would do neither of them any good to cover her ears to block out the horrible noises coming from the demon's throat, Veronica breathed in slow measured pulls, focusing on Dean instead. She'd thought he would help keep the hairs on her arms and the back of her neck from standing at attention. She was wrong. He stood next to the table, staring down at the demon as she struggled to spit the cloth out of her mouth. He shifted the jar of holy water a couple of inches to the right, lining it up with the salt Veronica now had far too many horrible ideas floating through her head about.

The demon threw her head back and screamed, a primal sound that sent the fine bones in Veronica's ears quivering in response. Calmly, so very calmly, Dean poured a fresh supply of water over the demon's face, soaking the rag once again. His words came back in a rush of white noise. 'What I am,' he'd said, not 'who I am.'

And exactly what was he, Veronica had to wonder as she looked on in horrified silence. He'd told her the human was going to die, there was no way around it. The knife would kill demon and host alike. Dean couldn't afford a single demon escaping with knowledge of his presence so close to the camp. He'd also told her any demon they took wouldn't offer the information up for free. He hadn't had to spell it out for her. She knew he'd been talking about torture. But knowing and seeing were worlds apart and her stomach was protesting the difference. The casual cruelty in the camps she'd come to expect. This, however, was carefully plotted to achieve a specific result. She forced down the bile and tightened her jaw. If he could stand to dirty his hands with it, the least she could do was watch it.

Finally, the demon managed to force the cloth from her mouth. It fell with a wet splat onto the boards at her feet. Dean's raptor gaze stayed on her face, the rag forgotten. "You were saying?" Red ringed her mouth and she swallowed, wincing at the gesture, but she didn't speak. "Trust me, sweetheart. I can go all night. I don't need much sleep anymore. Just call it another parting gift."

Eyes full of a fear Veronica hadn't thought a demon could feel, she nodded, the motion jerky and strangely alien. "I forgot you'd been more than merely Alistair's toy. What do you want?" she asked, defeat in every line of her body.

"I want to know everything about the camp by the Gate and everyone in it. And don't be bothered with thinking something's too small. I'm also a detail kind of guy. I get off on it." He twirled a fresh rag between his hands, the threat not subtle in the slightest.

The demon saw it for what it was and nodded. "The camp has everything to do with the Gate. They want it open and they're not being picky anymore about what it takes to do it."

"Who are they?"

"All of them. Zepar, Adramelech, Lilith. They all want it open. For the first time in our history, they're working together."

Veronica had little idea what the demon was talking about in the specific, but she saw the names hit Dean like a blow and knew it was all bad. She didn't think the world could take the Gate opening again. It had barely survived the consequences the first time.

"Then why isn't it open? I'd have thought Princess Badass Herself could have handled such a mundane task."

"I don't know. I'm just a guard. I do what they tell me. I don't sit around and chit-chat with their august selves."

Without him saying a word, Veronica knew Dean didn't believe her. He set the rag down, exchanging it for a pristine knife. It gleamed in the sunlight, a flash that dazzled her eyes as it swept the room. It had no proper handle, just an extension of metal. Dean tossed it casually up in the air and it spun wildly before he caught it, his eyes never leaving the demon's. A throwing knife, her brain realized, years of study finally kicking in. But what was he planning on doing with it? She jumped, nearly dropping the shotgun when he slammed the knife into the demon's left arm between the bones and into the arm of the chair itself. The demon screamed as blood dripped steadily down, soaking into her jeans and leaving a growing puddle on the floor.

Dean leaned over her, the only emotion gracing his hard features a grim satisfaction. "Want to try that again?"

"You son of a bitch. I'm not lying. Do you think I'd be wasting my time in a bum-fuck nothing town like Cody if I was any higher up the food chain? Do you think this little trap would hold me here?" Sweat poured down the demon's face and neck, soaking into her shirt. In contrast, the blood flowing from her arm was slowing, the drips coming farther and farther apart.

"No, actually I don't. Because I'd have just done this as soon as I laid eyes on you." In a move too fast for her eyes to follow, he shoved the demon killing knife into her chest and stepped back.

Tiny sparks of white lightning flared from the wound around the knife, the demon's face a mask of stunned shock. It only took seconds, but it felt like minutes to Veronica's pounding heart. As soon as the demon's head flopped lifelessly onto her chest, Dean wrenched the knife out with an ease that spoke of far too much practice. He grabbed the rag from the floor and cleaned the blood from the blade calmly, as if he hadn't just killed a woman with it.

"Still happy you wanted to come along?"

The question jolted her out of her paralysis and she stood, setting the shotgun on the table behind her. Her heart pounded against her ribs, the swift violence of this demon's death somehow so very different than at the barn. Her brain wanted to yell, scream, deny what she'd just witnessed, that Dean was human and humans didn't do those sorts of things. Then he looked up from the serrated knife, his gaze a trap she could no more look away from than the moment when Logan had been killed in front of her.

The harsh words died on her lips. It wasn't his expression, closed off and unyielding. It wasn't the knife held so comfortably in his hands. It was his eyes. Hidden deep behind the harsh resolution in the hazel was pain and a grief so horrible her stomach clenched into a hard knot. Phantom words echoed through her head and she had to force her lungs to breathe.

 _He cares so much he has to punish himself. Remind him he's doing the right thing. Don't let him bury himself in guilt._

Jo had entrusted her with a task more important than her sensibilities. It had seemed so easy to agree while standing in front of the memorial he'd built. Now she knew why Jo had been so insistent, so unwilling to let her go without emphasizing reality. Everything Dean did was to find his brother, to save the people he could along the way. He hadn't killed the demon in the chair for revenge. There wasn't even the smallest trace of pleasure in his eyes, only a weary acceptance of necessity.

She stood across the room, staring at him braced for her anger, her censure, and answered his question with one of her own. "What do we do with the body?"

************


	10. Part 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** See Part One for full story notes and disclaimers.

************  
Part Ten  
************

THEN...

Jo had entrusted her with a task more important than her sensibilities. It had seemed so easy to agree while standing in front of the memorial he'd built. Now she knew why Jo had been so insistent, so unwilling to let her go without emphasizing reality. Everything Dean did was to find his brother, to save the people he could along the way. He hadn't killed the demon in the chair for revenge. There wasn't even the smallest trace of pleasure in his eyes, only a weary acceptance of necessity.

She stood across the room, staring at him braced for her anger, her censure, and answered his question with one of her own. "What do we do with the body?"

NOW...

************

Yet again, Veronica shocked the hell out of him. It seemed as if that's all she'd been doing ever since she'd dropped into his life less than a week ago. Only a minute earlier her face had been filled with horror. He'd known she wasn't ready to witness what had to be done, but he didn't have the luxury of easing her into the world of hunting demons. The escalation of prisoner transfers into the area wasn't something he could sit on while his ride along got her feet wet. So he'd thrown her in head first, changing nothing in his approach compared to if he'd been alone. But as he watched, the horror faded, replaced by a steel resiliency he'd seen a glimpse of at the barn where their eyes had first met. And then she asked how they were getting rid of a body he'd just tortured mercilessly.

Something hard within him cracked, a tiny fissure in the granite wall holding him together. It let a wave of sensation through, so strong it pummeled his insides, beating at the protective shell that had kept him sane for over four centuries in Hell. His left shoulder burned, a reminder of the mystery mark set into his flesh when he'd escaped the Gate. He set the rag on the table next to the container of salt, sheathing the glistening knife without thought. Veronica waited patiently, her face giving him no indication she was worried about the dangerous freak who'd just murdered a woman. "We salt and burn her at least half an hour away. The smoke can't lead back to here." His voice was almost its normal graveled self, only the slightest tremor he doubted even Sam could have heard.

"I'll take her feet." She stepped forward, nothing in her demeanor telling him she was about to hurl over the thought of touching a dead body. He added an iron stomach to the growing list of positive things her presence brought.

It was, however, unnecessary. "You hold onto the shotgun. I can get her."

Scanning his face for a long moment, she nodded and turned back for the weapon. "So what do you think? About what she said, I mean?"

"She had no reason to lie other than that she's a demon and demons lie. It's a preprogrammed fact." He removed the silver blade from the demon's limp arm and released the ropes. He placed a hand on the body's shoulder to keep it from slumping forward without its restraints. "But it's a start. Tomorrow we grab another minnow for confirmation. Rinse and repeat until I know what's the truth and what's the lie." Veronica held the door open for him as he walked the body through. It was never a pleasant task, but at least demons weren't likely to bleed all over him or, worse yet, drip urine. They could keep the body's normal functions going but few of them bothered. He'd only ever seen a handful eat and he knew none of them had actually needed it.

"Do you want me to drive again?" Veronica asked as he shut the tailgate with a heavy thud.

"No, I got it. Hop in." With one last look at the body, he pulled open the driver's door. What did it say about his state of being that he was glad he didn't have to bother with covering her? There was no one to pull him over.

He checked the fuel gauge automatically, pleased to see he still had a pretty good reserve left. For a decades old vehicle, it was great on economy. Then again, his own tweaks had probably done more for it than the original designers. The hundred gallon tank he'd welded onto the back wall of the cab didn't hurt either. It had been easy enough to run a line into the engine compartment and changing between tanks was as easy as a flip of a switch. There were enough gas stations dotted around the country with both working power and huge fuel reserves left in their giant underground tanks. So few hunters remained Dean doubted they'd run through the remaining gas in a couple of decades.

He and Veronica spoke little during the trip and Dean was more than happy to keep the silence. The unasked for release of emotions was still roiling in his chest, popping up every time he dropped his guard. He'd spent so long drowning in the hate and pain, the hunt and survival, the unexpectedness of anything else was a flame to his battered soul.

When he thought they'd gone far enough, he pulled off of the highway toward a town that had seen its better days long before the demons came. It didn't take long to find a supply of wood capable of burning and Veronica helped him gather enough for a proper blaze. They stacked a flat pile of the 2x4s and broken plywood on a fairly large spot of concrete behind what had once been a convenience store then laid the body on top. He liberally sprinkled salt and accelerant over the wood and the body. In less than a minute, the stench of burning hair and flesh overpowered the sharp bite of kerosene. Dean didn't say anything when Veronica clapped a hand over her nose and mouth, her face paling even further in the last light of the setting sun. She didn't back away though and she gained yet another point in his ever-growing tally. She'd said she was originally from California and Dean had to wonder if there was something in the water in that state. Madison, the horrifically unknowing werewolf who'd begged Sam to kill her, had shown the same mettle and determination.

The leaping flames finally settled down to a sustained, slow burn that would take hours to die out. Dean scanned the area yet again, happy with the lack of possible secondary combustible material. It was time to go. She would finish burning on her own.

Veronica held her silence until they were back on the highway, her face lost in the shadows of the cab. "So tomorrow's the same plan? Snatch and run?"

"Yep. But we'll head to the northern reaches of the camp lines this time. Random peons who won't be missed don't draw unwanted attention. I doubt we'd get more than one shot at someone higher up the food chain. I want as much as I can get before we start thinking about trolling those waters." The headlights wove in and out of the pure darkness of the night. Streetlights had gone the way of the dodo after the first few months of the occupation. Demons liked their electricity well enough, but they apparently hadn't seen the need to waste it on non-essentials.

"I take it they don't care much for the worker bees?"

It was an interesting analogy, but at least with bees the queen knew exactly how many she had in her hive. "Expendable, every one of them. But work up enough power and leaders like Lilith start to take notice." His mouth tightened at the sound of the name. He still owed her for her part in his deal. Yeah, he'd made it with his eyes wide open, but that didn't mean he was going to forgive her for opening that damn door. Bitch was going to pay for that and for even thinking she wanted Sam's head on a plate.

"So if we do need to trap that one demon, it's game on?" When he nodded without taking his eyes from the road she sighed, loud enough for him to hear over the roar of the engine. "Then I guess we need to make sure we get the right one."

They were silent the rest of the drive. Dean wasn't sorry for the quiet although he was a little surprised Veronica didn't have any more questions for him. Maybe she'd figured out hunting in this new world was made up of stumbling along until he ran into what he needed to put the pieces together, kind of like the call that had brought the two of them into each other's lives. He scrubbed a hand over his face, the uneven skin of his scar unexpected even after so many months. Veronica had said it perfectly. They needed luck, but that was something he had never been on very good terms with.

Six days and six demons later Dean doubted there was anything else to learn from the demons they'd been targeting. Each had told the same story, with varying degrees of encouragement from him. They were trying to get the Gate open and had failed spectacularly so far. None of them were sure what the specifics were on what had been attempted, just that none of them had worked. One demon had spoken about an area of the camp no one except Lilith and her chosen few were allowed near. Dean's heart had leapt at the information and it had been hard to keep his face carefully controlled as if there was nothing special about what the demon had said.

They returned from burning their seventh demon as the sun was setting, the sky a magnificent vision of orange and red clouds. Dean's body thrummed with anticipation and not a little fear. Tomorrow he could learn exactly where his brother was. Then again, his plan might fall apart, getting him and Veronica killed before they made it halfway into the camp. Actually, death was the best case scenario in the event of failure. Success was contingent on everything going right. There was no backup plan. No do over. He shut the door of the truck, catching Veronica's gaze over the hood. "Are you sure you want to do this? I can radio Jo. Drop you three hundred miles from here. She'll come get you."

Steel filled her eyes, a look he'd caught more than one glimpse of after he'd killed that first demon wearing a woman's body. "You're not doing this alone, Dean. The plan calls for both of us. I'm not abandoning you."

Somehow he got the feeling she was talking about far more than simply the next few days. He nodded, setting the idea aside for later contemplation. He'd never really thought about after, his entire world focused on the search for his brother. Hopefully there would be a later to worry about. "Anybody ever mention you are more than one kind of crazy?"

"I believe it's been tossed around a few times," she said, the steel softening but not disappearing. "Usually just before I pulled off some insane stunt no one else thought would work."

"Here's to tradition then. May it not dangle us over the fire."

She chuckled and followed him into the cabin. He heard her fixing the salt line at the door and smiled slightly. He had to admit she'd come a long way in the last week. She hadn't shied away the first time he'd had to get overly aggressive with a demon. The bone-handled knife caused tremendous amounts of pain if not used in a fatal area, slowly frying a demon in its meat suit. He'd been forced into using it twice when the more mundane tactics had failed to break them. She hadn't flinched. She had, in fact, suggested he dribble a few drops of holy water into the pulsing wound, her voice flat and calm. Both demons had started talking.

They spent the evening much as they had the others. Veronica had turned out to be a not half bad poker player and while they'd only found a much abused deck of cards and no chips, they hadn't been the worst hours of his life. If he had Jo and a few solid days, he thought he might be able to turn Veronica into a fairly good hustler. She already had the basics down. She only lacked instruction from the best. Dinner consisted of the same cold trail rations they'd eaten for every other meal. He'd have set up snares their first night or even taken down a deer if the camp hadn't been so close. He couldn't chance the possibility of any smoke giving their hideout away. Even a so-called smokeless fire had some signs of presence and demons were nothing if not attuned to flame.

It was during their last hand of the evening she asked the question he'd been expecting for days. "What's your brother like? It sounded like you two were inseparable growing up." There was more than a hint of wistfulness in her voice, her face.

Her ingenuous use of the present tense was a punch to the gut, stealing his breath and clenching his hand around a pair of twos and fives. He forced his lungs into motion and his eyes to meet hers. "Only child, huh?" He didn't need her nod to know the guess had been correct. Even with the stalling tactic he had no idea how he was going to answer her until the words were out. "Sam's a pain in the ass little brother. He always wants to know why. His mouth got us into more trouble than mine ever did and don't let him tell you otherwise." The description should have surprised him, but it didn't. He could see Veronica reading between the lines and her lips softened into a smile, her eyes muted in the dim glow of the battered Coleman lantern.

"And he opened the Devil's Gate for you."

There was nothing he could say to that and he didn't even try. He cleared his throat quickly and laid his cards out. "Two pair. And I doubt you got that inside straight you were betting on." Betting was a loose term since they'd been using dry crackers for money, but it was the concept that counted.

She set her cards on the table, shaking her head. "Nope. I did scrounge up a pair though." She collected the cards absently, her fingers nimble and practiced as she shuffled. "I'm glad you had each other growing up. Dean," she said, grabbing his hand to bring his gaze to hers, the cards forgotten. "We'll find him and we'll get him out."

His skin burned where she touched it, the contact visceral, almost overwhelming the newly cracked wall deep inside. He pushed to his feet, the folding metal chair scraping away from the table with a shuddering squeal. She let him go and pulled her hand back slowly, staring up at him with her electric eyes. "It's going to be a long day tomorrow. We should get some rest."

"Right." It wasn't sarcasm, but it was close enough to be kin to it. She left the cards on the table and headed to the corner of the cabin she'd claimed as her own.

He stopped, eyes staring blindly through the opposite wall. Veronica had done everything he'd demanded of her and more. Yet he couldn't even get over himself enough to respond to her well-meant reassurance? It was like having a mini-Sam on his shoulder. When had he so totally lost connection to basic human emotions? "Veronica?" He felt more than heard her turn, her gaze a heavy weight on his back. "Thanks."

Her smile was heat and light all in one caress. "You're welcome, Dean."

Despite knowing what the next day would entail, he slept soundly, waking to the sound of a bird happily annoying every living creature within a one mile radius. "The sun's not coming up for another two hours, you idiot," he mumbled in the bird's general direction. A glance across the room told him Veronica was oblivious to the noisemaker. Lucky her. He got dressed quietly, wanting her to sleep as long as possible. He grabbed the battered leather journal Jo had managed to salvage from the wreckage of Bobby's home and settled into one of the chairs. Though he'd memorized every exorcism in it, and more, long before his sojourn in Hell, it never hurt to take some time for a refresher. It had only taken once getting trapped in a basement with a demon and no exorcism readily available. He always had learned fast. He lit the lantern with quick, practiced motions, setting the mantles just bright enough to see the words. Leaning forward over the journal, he lost himself in Latin.

When Veronica crawled out of her sleeping bag, the sun was bright enough in the cabin to have her squinting. Dean chuckled quietly, earning himself a glare of early morning blue frost. "Don't give me that. You're the one who wanted to come along. You could be sleeping in a nice comfy bed right about now."

"And once my back unkinks I'll remember that. Just keep your amusement to yourself and we won't have any problems."

"Sure thing, sweetheart." The expected glare only made his smile widen.

She stretched her arms above her head, face wincing with each audible pop. "When do you want to head out?"

Setting aside the journal, Dean crossed an ankle over the opposite knee. "As soon as you're ready. It'll take a couple of hours to get to the camp border and then maybe another one to find the section of fencing away from the tents. A naturalist the demon wasn't." Actually, the demon's directions had been worse than anything Sam had ever dredged up. But Dean had a general area at least. He'd find it. He could only wish his night vision goggles hadn't gotten smashed months ago. Going in at night would have been at least a little less insane, but there was no use in wishing. He had to play the cards he was dealt.

"Okay. I just need a few."

Leaving Veronica to her stretches and minimal ablutions, he went through the smaller bag of portable demon trapping supplies for the third time. He added another few sets of rock salt rounds as well as another container of holy water. Hefting it, he decided the total weight was a little heavy but nothing that would slow him measurably when they were forced to run. Veronica would have her own supply of holy water, salt and ammo. She'd proven to have more stamina than her frame suggested. He didn't care if the camps or nature had given it to her. He was just glad it existed.

One hour, fifty-three minutes later, he parked the truck deep into a stand of whitebark pines, their low hanging branches cutting the silhouette effectively. He barely squeezed through his door, the trees were so close. Veronica slid across the seats after him. Her door wouldn't open enough to let a mouse through let alone a full grown woman. They were screwed if it came down to needing the protection the truck promised. Veronica might be able to make it into the cab without damage. He could cover her if it came down to it.

They secured their packs and weapons, locked the truck and headed out. Dean searched for the landmarks the demon had given him as they moved over the landscape. She'd only had to use her senses to know exactly where she was in relation to the others. While Dean had his own special ability, pinpointing demons from a distance wasn't something he'd taken away from Hell.

"Wait a second," Veronica said, lifting one hand to point off toward her right. "Does that tree look a little exploded to you?"

That had been the description the demon had used. "It's more exploded than the rest of them." They angled toward it, looking for another landmark to confirm their position. Dean saw it less than five minutes later, the two rocks leaning drunkenly toward each other. A smile lifted his lips. Jo would never believe they'd followed trees and rocks to the camp. He'd done some crazy things during a hunt, but this was going into the top ten strangest list without a doubt. "I guess it really is the second star to the right."

"'And straight on 'til morning?'" She finished the quote, eyebrows raised as she looked at him. "I wouldn't have pegged you for a 'Peter Pan' fan."

If he didn't know it to be completely impossible, he would have sworn a flush was working its way up his neck. "Sam liked the books when he was a kid. Some teacher got him hooked."

Laughing, Veronica's face glowed with an inner light he'd never seen grace her features. The impossible flush faded into the background of his awareness. "You make it sound like she gave him heroin, not a children's book."

"With our upbringing, spending too much time with kids that never wanted to grow up wasn't the smart choice. We had to be adults before our tenth birthdays."

"It might not have been the smartest choice, Dean, but maybe it turned out to be the best one. You still remember it, right?"

He nodded, not trusting his voice to stay steady. Thankfully, he spotted the mesh fence of the camp border through the thinning trees before she would have expected a reply. He signaled Veronica to find a good hiding place as he did the same. He pulled the spotter's scope from the front pocket of his backpack and scanned the line of fence as far as he could see. As best as he could compile from the demons, the camp was roughly a two mile square with the cemetery and Devil's Gate smack dab in the middle. The surrounding area was used to house the demons and their few human workers. When he'd asked about the prisoners transferred in at regular intervals, they'd only been able to tell him they arrived and were never seen again. Staring out across the pockets of trees interspersed throughout the barren area, Dean finally believed them. Four square miles of humans, even demon hosting ones, should have some signs of life. There was no movement, only tents of varying sizes, ramshackle sheds that looked like a good puff of air would knock them over and one sturdy building holding reign over them all.

Every instinct within him screamed to head straight for that building. Sam could very well be inside it. But the cold, analytical part of his brain held out. Stick to the plan, Dean, it said. Rushing in blind will get you killed. The plan only might get you killed. As much as he hated that damn voice, it had saved him numerous times during the last year. His hand clenched around the scope and he forced himself to continue.

The fence itself would pose no trouble whatsoever. A basic set of wire cutters would have them through to the other side in mere moments. If Veronica's luck held, they'd make it to the second set of tents before getting spotted. They weren't very deep into the camp, but they didn't have to be. He pinpointed the main entrance to the south from the dirt track worn into the grass and weeds and followed it to a third cluster of tents. It was easily half a mile from the main building. A do-able distance, but it wouldn't be the most relaxing of trips. There were no roving patrols, just as his demon prisoners had assured him. What would be the point? Thankfully, the vehicles were also where they were supposed to be. It was the mostly likely point of failure in the whole gambit, but there was nothing he could do about that either. And stalling wasn't going to make the next few hours any less painful, he told himself. It was time to move.

He motioned Veronica closer, handing her the scope. She performed her own visual recon while he checked that the knife slid smoothly in its sheath. "Any last minute questions?"

"Aside from the obvious, nope." Without warning, she leaned close and pressed her lips to his cheek. "Don't get dead."

She was gone before he could decide what to do with the unexpected kiss. Tiny fires flared from the spot, tingling along his scar. One of these days he was going to have to figure out what to do about his reaction every time she touched him. More specifically, if he wanted to do anything about it. He shook off the distracting thoughts and handed her the second set of wire cutters.

"Time to rattle the cage."

************


	11. Part 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** See Part One for full story notes and disclaimers.

************  
Part Eleven  
************

THEN...

Without warning, she leaned close and pressed her lips to his cheek. "Don't get dead."

She was gone before he could decide what to do with the unexpected kiss. Tiny fires flared from the spot, tingling along his scar. One of these days he was going to have to figure out what to do about his reaction every time she touched him. More specifically, if he wanted to do anything about it. He shook off the distracting thoughts and handed her the second set of wire cutters.

"Time to rattle the cage."

NOW...

************

Veronica's heart pounded against her ribs so loudly she was sure any demon within a mile could hear it. She forced her hands to move, clipping wires as fast as possible. Cuts dotted her knuckles from where the wire had bit back. She ignored the small pains, focusing on Dean's steady presence beside her.

The whole thing was insane enough it just might work. Dean had told her they'd never make it to the restricted area with only the two of them. Even with a baker's dozen of hunters it would have been questionable. So he'd simply tossed out the idea of sneaking in. Well, they'd be doing a little sneaking.

She sprinted after him, aiming straight for the small shed he'd pointed out earlier. Once there, he held one of the small distraction devices up between them and pointed to a switch on the side. His eyebrows rose in a silent question. She nodded her understanding, gulping in air as quietly as she could while Dean looked as if he'd merely taken a relaxing walk. The man wasn't even breathing hard, damn him. She had to be more out of shape than she'd thought. Her lungs started to relax as he tucked the device neatly into the outer corner of the shed. She eyed it skeptically though he'd insisted it had worked like a charm before. To trust their lives to such tiny bits of plastic and silicon was stretching things pretty far.

Signaling he was finished, Dean handed her a second device and pointed toward the nearest cluster of small tents then back to her. She nodded once again, accepting the device gingerly as if it was about to explode in her face. He scanned the area carefully, then gave her a slight push toward her target. He didn't wait to see if she took the hint, just left on silent feet for his chosen set of tents. After one last fortifying breath, she hugged the side of the nearest tent as soon as she reached it, concentrating on not actually touching the heavy canvas. While the plan was to get caught, it was to get caught on Dean's terms. He was disturbingly confident the demons wouldn't kill him on sight and any companion of his would be held as leverage over him. Lilith would want her pound of flesh, he'd said. The sadistic bitch wouldn't be able to resist digging the knife into him yet again. She hadn't asked what he'd meant by 'yet again' at the time. But if they got out of the camp alive all bets were off.

After setting the device into the shadows of the canvas, she checked once again that the switch was in the correct position. She patted it gently then stood, searching for Dean. He was already on his way to her position, his own device secured even faster. She frowned, watching him cross the weed-strewn ground. Either they'd run much slower than she'd thought during their dash to the shed or her brain was making things up in an adrenaline induced haze. It simply wasn't possible for a human to move that fast. She didn't have time to decide which option was the least insane because he was already motioning for her to follow him. She adjusted her backpack slightly, the shotgun slippery in her sweating hands. Without warning, Dean gripped her arm, fingers digging in painfully hard. He yanked her back around the corner of the tent, angling his body in front of her. She saw movement between the edge of the canvas and Dean's back and shrank even farther behind him. How had Dean known the demon was there? She hadn't heard a single footstep. The demon paused, head tilting ever so slightly as if confused and Dean pressed closer to her. She couldn't breathe, wondering if their sneaking was going to come to an earlier end than expected. Dean had been hoping to get at least four of the devices placed, each one able to amplify the effects of its neighbor. Her lungs were screaming for oxygen when the demon finally shook his head and kept walking.

Drawing in a deep, silent breath, she rested her forehead on Dean's back for a long moment. He tensed but didn't pull away. When she lifted her eyes, she found his expectant gaze waiting and she nodded. He took one more look around then motioned her forward.

They didn't get to place the fourth device.

Halfway to the next set of tents, Dean's head snapped to the right, his jaw tensing. "Game on, V."

She swung the shotgun up, automatically searching for the target. The demon helped her out by shouting, "Hey. What are you doing out here?" Apparently the genius couldn't see the weaponry, either that or he simply didn't care. What was some buckshot to a demon, after all? She'd have loved to correct his lack of concern, but he was too far away for the rock salt to do more than tap him.

"I'm waiting for you, jackass," Dean said, voice carrying clearly over the distance.

The demon's uncertainty disappeared between one blink and the next. His face curled up in a snarl and he started toward them, one hand raising in a gesture Veronica recognized all too well. If he managed to complete the action, she and Dean could end up flying through the tents, possibly damaging their devices in the process. Her finger tightened on the trigger, but Dean's gun barked out two shots before she completed the motion. The demon's hand exploded in a spray of red and he screamed. Wincing at the noise, she steeled her spine. Their strategic entry had been blown in the worst possible way.

Dean gripped her elbow and yanked her into a run. She heard feet slapping the ground behind them and shouts filling the air. Her heart pounded in time with their sprint, her adrenaline spiked lungs gasping in oxygen. A shed exploded in a burst of demon power as they flew past, shards of wood stinging when they met her flesh. The pack slapped against her back with every stride, the containers of holy water that had been so comforting when they'd started out merely causing bruises now. "Dean!" she shouted above the noise of their pursuit, right arm raised to point to the right.

"I see them."

His tone was grim and her stomach sank at the sound. He'd been expecting to draw a sizable amount of attention once their presence was known. He hadn't said anything to her about drawing every demon in the camp to them. Her mind flew to the words of the easiest exorcism she'd learned what seemed months ago. Fifty words wouldn't take that long to scream, would they? It wasn't in Dean's plan, but she didn't think she could just let them take her without trying.

Before she could put thought to deed, the ground erupted at their feet, throwing them sprawling onto their faces. Rocks and weeds scraped fire over her palms and cheek as she fought to keep her nose from slamming into the dirt. Her backpack smacked into the back of her head, velocity keeping it moving even though she wasn't, and white spots overlayed her vision in dizzying patterns. By the time they cleared, feet surrounded them. Instinct had her fighting to get up, to escape, but she couldn't move. Incorporeal weight, an all too familiar demon trick of power, held her in place and she nearly screamed. She couldn't do this again. What had ever possessed her to think she could be what Dean was? Her panicked gaze met Dean's from only five feet away, her throat too tight to let a sound escape.

One side of his mouth quirked up and he winked at her over the weeds, body just as frozen as hers. "Don't give up on me now, sweetheart."

She barely heard it over the babble of demon voices but she latched onto the hated endearment with the strength of a drowning woman. Her pulse settled into a mere gallop and she sucked in a hitched breath. He nodded his approval then with one powerful motion flipped onto his back. How he managed the feat, she had to idea. She was having a hard enough time breathing with the pressure shoving her into the ground.

"Isn't this a little overkill for a welcoming committee?" Dean could have been eating dinner in a restaurant for all the concern she heard in his voice.

One set of work boots stepped forward, the worn heels and signs of heavy use surprising her for some reason. The demon knelt, bringing him in line with her straining eyes. He lifted her left arm at an awkward angle that threatened to dislocate her shoulder. Biting her lip to keep from making a sound, she watched as he read her tag. "California, huh? You're a long way from home, little girl."

What was it with demons and calling her all sorts of pet names? She wasn't that tiny. Anger clawed its way up from her gut, filling her with enough strength to yank her arm out of his grasp. Her fingers smacked painfully into the ground, but the relief in her shoulder was worth it. "I hear you're a bit farther away, asshole." His eyes bled to black, nostrils flaring wide. Oh no, she hadn't actually said that aloud, had she? She tensed every muscle, waiting for the blow.

It never came. The sound of Dean's laughter filled the air, drawing the demon's full attention. "She's got you there, Billy Bob. The truth hurts, don't it?"

The demon gave Dean's arm the same examination, a frown creasing his forehead at the sight of unmarked skin. "Where's your tag, human?"

"I never had one."

A shiver worked down her spine. Gone in an eye blink was the jovial huckster, replaced by the man who'd stared at her with death in his eyes, his hand around her throat. The demon had to recognize the difference as he stood, moving back out of her line of sight. "Then who are you?"

"Wait," a new voice said from her right side. The female stepped over Veronica in order to twist Dean's head to the left. Her fingers dug into his cheeks, distorting the scar now clearly visible to every demon present. The demon scrambled away so fast she tripped over Veronica's legs. "That's Dean Winchester."

There was a startled moment of absolute silence before the work boots reappeared. Without warning, one boot flashed out, slamming into the side of Dean's head, rocking his entire body despite the pressure bearing down on them.

"No!" Veronica's throat burned from the force of the shout, her body shaking at the shock of the unexpected attack. "Dean?" she whispered uselessly. The lifeless slump of his body sent a tremor over her spine. The leashed aggression he'd held in every muscle since they'd left the Roadhouse had vanished. It had unnerved her a little that first day on the road. Now, she found herself praying for it to return. His head lolled to the left, blood oozing down the side of his face and into the short hair above his ear before dripping into the dirt. A tiny part of her brain knew he'd be pissed if the gash caused a scar on his unmarked side. The rest of her was struggling to hold panic at bay. This had never been a part of the plan.

"Search him for weapons and bind him. She'll want to see him," the demon said, turning to look Veronica over with far more suspicion than he had earlier. "Bring the girl as well."

She felt hands removing the pack from her back, the sudden lack of weight making it only a little easier to breathe. She watched as they none too gently stripped Dean of his own pack, two guns, vials of holy water and the serrated knife. He didn't move when they flipped him onto his stomach once again and secured his hands behind his back. More hands swept her legs and torso, searching for anything but skin. Her shotgun had flown a few extra feet in her fall and was added to the growing collection as well. The pressure holding her to the ground released, but she didn't have the will or enough knowledge to take advantage of it. Two demons lifted Dean using his bound arms as handles at his shoulders, his feet dragging behind them. She stood listlessly as directed, her brain locked around one plea. Dean, please wake up.

It was the one possibility he hadn't given her an option for. She trailed after her bound companion, demons surrounding them. One hand tightly gripped around her upper arm, squeezing into the muscle painfully. The amount of demon presence in their little parade seemed a bit excessive to her for two humans, but even unconscious they weren't taking any chances with Dean. As they walked, her brain slowly started working again, the shock wearing off in spurts. List your assets, she told herself. You have a brain, use it!

The internal pep talk steadied her and she let the investigator within take over. Her gaze roamed anywhere and everywhere, observing and recording. The demon who'd recognized Dean held their backpacks, the barrel of her shotgun poking out of the zipper of one. The rest of Dean's weapons, including the demon killing knife, had been tossed haphazardly into the bags. They wouldn't be quick to dig out. The holy water had been left where they'd been grounded, presumably for later collection. There was more in the backpacks, but she doubted she could get to it without severe consequences. She had a laundry list of exorcisms at her disposal yet she wasn't stupid enough to try one of them alone. She might get two words out before she felt a boot to the head herself. Their best weapon was Dean himself and he was still out. If she could manage to stall them long enough, the plan would still work. Only how the hell was she supposed to do that?

The one true building in the camp was growing larger as they walked. At least one thing was going according to plan. Dean had believed he'd be taken to Lilith and any other high level demons present at the camp as opposed to the other way around. Her confidence rose one tiny notch. If they got into that building, even if Dean didn't wake up, she could activate the devices they'd planted. She only had to get to Dean's body, which would not be an easy task. She could set up a defense in the building until he woke if necessary.

Demons of all shapes and sizes took one look at their little party and turned away in any other direction. A small group of humans, clothed in the hated jumpsuits, stared at them with dead eyes, all hope long departed. She wanted to yell at them it wasn't hopeless, that there was a way to be free. Keeping her mouth closed took an act of supreme will and they turned back to their work without any sign something unusual had happened.

As they approached the building, the tree clusters that had been the sum total of decoration around the camp grew more prevalent. Veronica almost stumbled over her feet when worn headstones started appearing. They were set at what appeared to be random intervals, oddly shaped and weather pitted. An old cemetery? What was going on?

The demon in the lead gestured sharply, taking their backpacks from the female demon, and all but the two carrying Dean split off quickly the way they'd come. The thought floated through her head that she could use one of the exorcisms now. There were only three of them and she could talk very quickly when needed. And then she could mess up Dean's plan so badly they'd never get it back on track. She followed them meekly through the door, automatically cataloguing everything she saw.

The word building was a misnomer, but it was the only term she knew to use. There was no flooring, only dirt, scraggly weeds and more of the grave markers. The interior was far larger on the inside than what its exterior had suggested. Only one corner of the cavernous room was closed off with walls, a utilitarian door leading into it. But the main focus of the room was a crypt, sufficiently spooky looking to have every hair on her body prick up in reaction. Yet it wasn't the crypt itself that had her forcing saliva into her suddenly dry mouth. It was the stylized pentagram in the center of the double doors that did. Nothing good could be attached to that.

Stopping an uncomfortably close distance away, the demon signaled to the other two. "Watch them." They dropped Dean unceremoniously and she winced when his head made a dull thud hitting the ground. His eyes didn't open. The demon who'd led them across the camp continued without a backward look, heading toward the single room in the back.

"Hey," Veronica said and the two demons glared at her. Swallowing, she pointed to Dean. "I just want to check on him. Please."

"Stay put. You should be more worried about yourself right now."

Bastard. Her mouth tightened as she held his gaze. He smiled, a baring of teeth that promised he'd enjoy hurting her as soon as he was off his leash. Looking down, she hated herself for breaking first, but a year of the camps couldn't be shaken off so quickly. She focused on Dean instead, taking in the rise and fall of his ribs. At least he was alive. It wasn't a good sign he was still unconscious though. Wake up, Dean.

The door to the back room opened, drawing her attention, and a new demon walked out, trailed deferentially by the first. Veronica's blood froze as the woman came closer. Power radiated from her in waves, a suffocating force making it difficult to breathe. She was taller than Veronica, with honey-blonde hair and a square jaw that was strangely out of proportion to the rest of her face. It didn't detract from the sense of danger surrounding her in the slightest.

She stopped less than a foot away from Dean, her wide mouth split in a grin to reveal a set of perfect white teeth. The only thing missing from the picture were small horns sprouting from her forehead. "I wondered when he'd show up. I just didn't think he'd have a little puppy trailing after him when he did."

The demon turned painfully blue eyes in her direction and Veronica felt much like a rabbit probably did when facing down a wolf. Dean had told her about the powerful demons, the ones she could only hope to run far away from as quickly as possible, but hearing about them and actually meeting one were two completely different things. Her throat closed over whatever words would have come out. All she could do was stare into death itself and pray Dean would finally wake up.

Her smile growing even wider, the demon chuckled and kneeled near Dean's head. She touched two fingers to his forehead and his eyes flew open. "Hello again, Dean. It's good to see you." Veronica couldn't have melted butter on the demon's tongue.

"Lilith." His voice was rough, his eyes spitting hatred as he held the demon's eyes. With a move she wouldn't have thought possible with his hands bound behind his back, he rolled away from Lilith and up to his feet. He swayed slightly before steadying himself, his feet planted wide. "I really can't say the same."

The demon stood, every motion deadly grace itself. "If it's not to say hi to an old friend exactly what are you doing here, Dean? I wouldn't have thought you'd want to return to the scene of the crime."

Dean responded, but Veronica didn't hear him. Her attention was suddenly locked on the crypt itself. Intuition slapped hard and there was no question in her mind. It wasn't a crypt. The pentagram loomed large in her eyes, the small hole in the center blatantly obvious now that she knew what she was looking at. It was a keyhole.

She was staring at the Devil's Gate itself.

************


	12. Part 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** See Part One for full story notes and disclaimers.

************  
Part Twelve  
************

THEN...

Dean responded, but Veronica didn't hear him. Her attention was suddenly locked on the crypt itself. Intuition slapped hard and there was no question in her mind. It wasn't a crypt. The pentagram loomed large in her eyes, the small hole in the center blatantly obvious now that she knew what she was looking at. It was a keyhole.

She was staring at the Devil's Gate itself.

NOW...

************

Lilith's host was blonde and curvy, but her eyes didn't match the beautiful packaging. They were coldly blue, promising only pain and agony. The last time Dean had seen her she'd been wearing the petite blonde woman he and Sam had known only as the demon Ruby. She'd opened the french door with an atavistic gleam in her white eyes, allowing the hellhound into the room to tear him to shreds. Unfortunately, he didn't have the time to return the favor. Getting his own back would have to wait for another opportunity. He had more important things to worry about at the moment. He saw the backpacks tossed carelessly at their feet and bit back a smile. At least that much had gone to plan. The sharp ache in his head certainly hadn't been anywhere on the list though.

"Well, you know me, Lilith. I'm all about doing the unexpected."

"Like your little tag along? Since when did you start collecting Girl Scouts? Dean, that's beneath you." She crossed her arms under her generous breasts, lifting them subtly.

He didn't take her up on the offer, keeping his eyes firmly on hers. "She's a means to an end. I took a lot of notes from your buddies in the Pit."

"I did hear that, but I found it all a little hard to believe. The upright and righteous Dean Winchester sullying himself with our kind." Her smile turned vicious, teeth flashing again. "I'm sorry I missed it."

Glancing quickly at Veronica, he saw she was pulling herself together, her gaze finally leaving the Gate to focus back on Lilith. He smiled internally as he continued to ease his bound hands closer to his waistband and the activator hidden there. He'd learned far more than how to torture during his time in Hell. "So am I. I'd have loved to show you some of the finer points. Let's quit dancing around. You know exactly why I'm here."

The smile vanished as her eyes rolled up into her head, revealing the true milky white of the frighteningly powerful demon residing inside. "I have no idea what goes through that puny brain of yours. Why don't you enlighten me before I kill your little friend on principle alone?"

Veronica jumped enough for him to see but he didn't look over. There was no point in drawing Lilith's attention to her any more than it already was. The three other demons had taken up flanking positions around them, but they weren't the real threat. Only the demon in front of him mattered. "You have Sam. I want him."

"Sam, Sam, Sam. Is he all you ever think about? It's like a broken record with you two."

He caught the slip and his pulse leapt, flooding his system with much needed adrenaline. Deep down he'd known his brother was alive. Now he had confirmation. "What can I say? I've always had a one track mind. Where is he?"

She shook her head, snapping her fingers at the three demons. "Not here. You wasted your one chance, Dean. You should have stayed out there, killing demons and playing hero. This time it won't be a hound ripping into you." The demons stepped forward and he felt hands grip his arms. The third demon took hold of Veronica and she stared up at him with eyes grown wide.

Lilith knew about him. Specifically, she knew that Dean Winchester was walking the earth and killing demons. He'd always assumed they'd attributed the missing demons to the remaining hunters sending what demons they could back to Hell. Any demon who'd seen him crawl out of the Gate also had to have seen the bright white light that had enveloped him moments later. White lights normally signaled a soul departing to wherever it was they moved onto, not getting shoved back into a long dead corpse. No demon who'd seen him since had lived to report back to anyone. By all rights, Lilith should have been surprised to see him. Yet her composure spoke against it being news. And if she'd known for any length of time then the other upper level horrors did as well. It was a concern to look into later. Dean took a deep breath, pushing it aside for the moment. If they made it out alive he could worry about the consequences. He squeezed the button on the remote hidden underneath the waistband of his jeans, the reassuring click filling him with satisfaction. He let it come out in his expression and knew it was feral. "Sorry to cut you short, Lilith, but we'll have to continue this another time. I have things to do, people to save."

"The only thing you have in your future is pain. Hell's looking forward to your return."

"Save me a seat, bitch."

It was almost anti-climatic. His recorded voice boomed out of the small MP3 devices still tucked into the backpacks. Latin flowed smoothly from the compact, yet high powered speakers. He and Sam had used the trick once. He'd thought Sam was insane when he'd first suggested it, but it had actually worked. Now, watching the three demons stagger away from them, hands clamped over their ears, he couldn't stop the laugh from escaping.

The demons shrieked, abandoning Lilith and sprinting for the door. It wouldn't do them any good, however. The devices he and Veronica had hidden by the shed and the tents would find them. Sound traveled far in the emptiness of the Wyoming landscape and the speakers hadn't sold at a cheap rate before money had lost all meaning. Every demon in the camp had two choices, neither of which included sticking around to find out if Lilith would kill them for running. One didn't even reach the door before leaving his host with a shout of black smoke. The other two continued their headlong rush without looking back.

Dean held Lilith's eyes, watching calmly as she began to twitch, fighting the exorcism. He circled her, predator and prey suddenly reversed, and she turned to follow him. "You know, it's really interesting, the things a person can learn just by listening. Like the fact that a demon is a demon, no matter how old or powerful. You're all just a bunch of parasites only waiting for eviction." The exorcism continued in the background, moving ever closer to its conclusion.

Sweat dripped down Lilith's face and her head jerked to one side repeatedly. "I'll find you, Dean. You won't like it when I do."

"Watch your back, Lilith. One day you'll find a knife sticking out of it."

With a scream that held the full rage of Hell, the host's head flew back and thick, oily black smoke erupted from her mouth. He saw Veronica stumble away as the power of Lilith's departure slapped at them with phantom hands. He forced himself to not move, to withstand the attack. To the very last, the bitch was trying to get to him.

The smoke disappeared through the door, following the underlings who'd fled not ten words into the exorcism. His own voice continued unbroken as the MP3 player looped back to start again. He could only hope the other two devices were doing the same. They'd need every foot of room to get out of the camp alive. He toed one of bags, shrugging a bound shoulder at Veronica. She knelt, digging through the bags and pulling the knife from the mess inside.

"'She's a means to an end?'" Veronica asked, spouting his own words back to him. She sounded steady, though she looked pale enough to drop at the first strong wind.

"Trust me, you did not want Lilith thinking you were anything but expendable. Come on." He waggled his hands as far around his side as he could reach and smiled, feeling lighter than he had in recent memory. She gave him a look that promised he'd pay later for the comment and sliced through the ropes. After shaking out his aching hands, he accepted the offered knife, tossed her one of the bags and grabbed the other. As he passed the Gate, he gave it a long look. It hadn't changed since the last time he'd seen it. Then again, he hadn't bothered sparing the energy to sightsee as he'd clawed his way through. Such a small structure to cause so much destruction.

"Dean?" Veronica was at his side, one hand hovering over his arm. "Are you all right?"

He blinked, wondering when he'd stopped walking. He hadn't given his feet permission to halt. "I'm fine. Let's get Sam and get out of here." Moving quickly to the door, his heart pounded, so unnerved his hands were actually shaking. He'd been searching for over a year. To have it all come to a head so quickly was almost too good to be true.

The door opened with a quiet click and he shoved it all the way open on its hinge. No demon could be in there with the exorcism looping over and over from the backpack, but that didn't mean a regular old human couldn't be waiting to jump him. The room only held one occupant though. The familiar features were battered, the eyes sunken deep into the skull. But it was Sam. It was his brother.

"My God, what did they do to him?" Veronica rushed around him, that innate innocence the demons hadn't been able to beat out of her coming to the fore.

He grabbed her arm, stopping her from reaching Sam where he was bound to a waist-high table. It was the perfect height, his brain noticed absently. Just high enough the one holding the knife wouldn't have to bend over to work. The disturbing thought shook him out of his paralysis. "See if you can find the keys. Lilith's host will probably have them on her body somewhere."

"What about you?"

"I'm going to wake Sam up and try to keep him from going ape-shit all over us."

She left without a word, only a look that said she thought just maybe pawing over a dead body was the easier task. He couldn't find it within himself to argue with her. Sam had one hell of a temper on him when riled and whatever Lilith had been doing to him hadn't been designed to keep him comfortable. Seeing his dead brother hovering over him would only add fuel to the fire.

Dean set his backpack next to the bed and felt for the pulse in Sam's neck. It was thready, far too fast and weak. From the amount of visible wounds on his chest and arms, from faint pinks scars to newly scabbed over, Dean had a pretty good idea the rest of Sam's body would be covered in similar cuts. He wore only a thin pair of pants, his bare feet strangely untouched beneath the shackles holding him to the table. Dean tapped his brother's cheeks, soft at first but growing harder when Sam only groaned and shook his head. "Wake up, Sam. You can get your beauty sleep later."

One final smack and Sam's eyelids twitched, lifting slowly to reveal dazed green irises. The pupils contracted as he struggled to focus, his forehead wrinkling in a familiar frown. A mix of fury and fear clouded his eyes as he stared up at Dean. "No, no, you don't get to do that. You don't get to touch him."

A band of steel tightened around Dean's chest at the words, at the weakness in the tone, the utter despair. The voice he remembered in his head was strong, confident, even when Sam himself wasn't. The man lying on the table had to fight for every word, gasping for air. "Sammy, what have they done to you?" he asked quietly, resting his hand on the one part of his brother's shoulder that looked moderately less cut up. "It's me, Sam, not a demon. You have to snap out of it."

"Go back to Hell, you bitch."

He'd have laughed at the name calling except Lilith probably did have cojones to dig his body up, possess it and use it against Sam in her twisted little scheme. "Sam, I'm not a demon. You need to listen to me. We have to get out of here."

"I watched him die. You can't trick me. Try another sick game." Sam's eyes closed as he turned his head away.

"Damn it, Sam," he muttered, his hand tensing where it touched his brother. Veronica re-entered the room, a set of keys jingling in one hand. He extended his arm for them and she handed them over.

"How is he?" She took up a position on the opposite side of the table. He noticed she was careful to keep her hands away from Sam's arm.

Dean's fist tightened around the keys and he shook his head. "Not good. He thinks I'm a demon." With his other hand he gripped his brother's jaw, dragging Sam's face back around. "Sam, if you don't start listening to me I swear I will knock you out and drag you every foot of the way out of here. You know how much I hate carrying your heavy ass."

His brother's eyes opened with a snap that probably hurt, but the green was clearer, sharper, more the Sam he remembered. "Dean?" The hope was fragile and could so easily be crushed. Thankfully Dean was the last person on the planet who would do that.

"Yeah, it's really me, Sammy. I promise I'll tell you everything I can once we're safe. Now are you going to fight me when I undo these?" He tapped the keys against the shackles, the quiet clang filling the room.

Sam's head shook back and forth, his eyes never leaving Dean's. "No, I won't. But I don't know if I can walk. You may end up carrying me anyway." A weak smile teased at the corners of his chapped lips.

"I always have to do all the hard work." It took three tries to find the correct key for the first cuff around Sam's leg. His brother didn't attack as his other leg was released. Dean kept his guard up however. Sam was a sneaky son of a bitch. He popped the lock on Sam's left wrist then paused before moving onto the wide strap around his waist. "Take a second and listen, Sam. What do you hear?"

His face tightened in pain and confusion as he rotated his freed wrist. Sam's eyes grew as wide as his smile when the words sank in. "It's an exorcism. You're not possessed."

Dean nodded, finally releasing the waist strap and his right wrist. "And neither are you."

"Tape recorder? You're just full of surprises."

"MP3 player actually. It only took the apocalypse to drag me into the twenty-first century. Come on, you need to help me a bit. Sit up so I can take a look at your back." Steeling himself to see the inevitable damage after the mess of Sam's chest, he actually jumped when Sam grabbed him and pulled him in tight.

"I don't care if they Duck-Taped you back together. I'm so damn glad to see you. I couldn't tell if you made it out before they got me." Each word was a little stronger than the last, as if being released from the restraints had given him energy. Dean didn't care why, he was merely happy to hear it.

Not wanting to add to his brother's pain, he carefully patted Sam's back. "We can talk about all of that later. Right now we have to get out of here before they're able to regroup. So shut up and start helping."

Sam nodded and finally turned his eyes to Veronica, who'd stood silently during their entire exchange. "Who's the pretty lady?"

His mouth tightening as Dean took in the cuts on Sam's back, he stripped off his shirt. "Her name's Veronica. She's almost as much a pain in the ass as you are. This is going to hurt, but put this on. It'll keep the dirt out until we can clean you up."

"Hi," she said, helping Sam ease one arm into the shirt. "It's good to meet you, Sam."

"Likewise. Ow." He winced as the shirt scraped over his back and chest. "Hey. What about your face?"

For a long moment Dean thought Sam was talking about the scar until his brother's hand came up and touched his cheek. It came away red. He'd forgotten about the gash on the side of his head. "I'm fine. It's just a scratch." He glared Veronica into silence when her mouth opened to contradict him.

"I'll call bullshit later. Don't think I won't. I'm ready to go whenever you are."

"Sure you are, sport. Do you have any shoes?" Dean hefted the pack for what would hopefully be the last time. At Sam's negative reply, he shrugged, knowing it had been an incredible stretch of luck to get even as far as they had. Shoes would have been pushing the boundaries of even Veronica's luck. "Veronica, keep the shotgun at the ready. Let's book."

************


	13. Part 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** See Part One for full story notes and disclaimers.

************  
Part Thirteen  
************

THEN...

"I'll call bullshit later. Don't think I won't. I'm ready to go whenever you are."

"Sure you are, sport. Do you have any shoes?" Dean hefted the pack for what would hopefully be the last time. At Sam's negative reply, he shrugged, knowing it had been an incredible stretch of luck to get even as far as they had. Shoes would have been pushing the boundaries of even Veronica's luck. "Veronica, keep the shotgun at the ready. Let's book."

NOW...

************

Veronica nearly gasped when Dean pulled his brother to his full height. The man was freakishly tall, though his frame was painfully thin. She wanted to ask how long he'd been a prisoner, but wasn't so sure she wanted to know the answer. His obvious weakness didn't seem to slow him down as Dean followed her through the main room and past Devil's Gate, his brother's arm securely wrapped around his shoulders.

The exorcism continued on its loop from Dean's bag, joined by the echo from the two devices outside as they cleared the main doors. "How much longer before the batteries die on those things?"

"Honestly? I'm surprised they've lasted this long."

That was in no way comforting. And neither was the disturbing mark she'd seen on Dean's upper arm before he turned to lift Sam to his feet. The pale, raised flesh had a similar look to the scar on his face, strangely smooth and long healed. It had looked for all the world as if someone had branded him with a sick impression of a hand where his arm and shoulder met--a right hand with the thumb wrapping partway around his arm. She wanted to ask about that as well, but knew it wasn't the time or the place, or her place.

So she kept her mouth shut and hurried beside Dean and his brother through the empty camp. None of the humans they'd seen earlier made a repeat appearance. She hoped they'd taken the unexpected opportunity to run, but the lack of life she'd seen in them gave her the impression they'd merely gone back to their holding areas to await their next instructions.

It felt like hours before the vehicles came into sight, though in reality it couldn't have taken much longer than ten minutes. Sam's every step was dragging and Dean's running encouragement had become a constant murmur of sound in her ear. She knew it was meant for Sam, but it kept her moving right along with them. With a spluttering hiccup, the device in Dean's backpack died, leaving them in a profound silence. She met Dean's eyes and knew hers held more than a touch of panic.

"Go," he ordered, tightening his grip on Sam's arm. "Find one we can get started easily. We'll be right behind you."

"Dean." She didn't know what she would have said and she never had the chance to find out.

"Go!"

The command came from both of them this time and she ran. This was one thing she could do for Dean. She was useless against demons and probably most of anything else they would come across. After all the trust he'd placed in her, she wasn't about to let him down. She wasn't going to be the reason either brother was killed just when they'd found each other again.

She kept the shotgun at the ready, her eyes constantly scanning the area around her. Nothing moved, not even the wind. The cluster of vehicles was close enough to the main entry to give her chills. The first three cars were locked tight, which made no sense to her. Why would demons need to lock their cars? It wasn't like their human slaves would go around trying to steal them. Where would they even go? She kicked the tire in frustration and looked over her choices. Her eyes latched onto a mid-eighties sedan with a rust spot across the trunk marring the otherwise excellent paint. Head tilted to one side, she shrugged. Dean had said one that was easy to start. He hadn't said anything about it being stylish.

The sedan was open and she tore the housing from underneath the steering wheel, tossing it into the dirt at her feet. Grabbing a handful of wires, she plucked out the ones she wanted. It had been a long time since she'd hot-wired a car, but it wasn't a skill that went away from lack of use. She dug a small knife out of her bag, smiling as she remembered Dean's almost agonized look when he'd added it to her kit. "Don't stick yourself with this. Or me," he'd said, pointing a finger in her face.

She cut the wires smoothly, stripping off the little bits of insulation in her way. Tapping the cleaned ends together, she got an encouraging spark and a grind of sound from the engine. She slid into the seat and pumped the gas pedal twice, continuing to spark the wires. The engine caught with a roar and she smiled. She tossed her backpack into the rear seat and threw the car in gear.

The expression on Dean's face when she pulled up beside them was one she'd remember for a long time. She helped him get Sam into the back seat, curling his impossibly long legs up to fit. "Why didn't you mention your brother was eight feet tall?"

"It never came up in conversation."

She slid into the passenger seat, slamming the door behind her. "You're just lucky this car is a boat. Sam might not have fit in the others."

Dean took off with a spray of dirt, the front of the sedan aimed for the exit she could see in the glow of the headlights. "He's been in worse, unfortunately. How you doing back there, Sam?"

"Awesome."

Chuckling quietly, Dean nodded once, a smile of contentment creasing his face. "That's usually my line. What have you been doing, taking notes?"

"Always. I learned from the best."

There was a wealth of affection in the teasing, good-humored and familiar enough she knew it wasn't the first time they'd checked up on each other in such a fashion. Dean glanced up into the rear view mirror, his expression softer than she could ever remember seeing it. "Get some rest, Sammy. I've got you now."

Veronica watched as Sam's eyes slid closed, his face relaxed despite the pain he had to be experiencing. She doubted he'd feel anything for quite a while, anything except relief that his brother was alive. "You're a good man, Dean Winchester."

A beat of silence followed her comment and she looked over to see him staring resolutely ahead. "Not really. Just ask the few people I know who are still alive."

"I don't need to. I've already met the only two who count." He didn't reply, merely tightened his grip on the steering wheel. Giving up on that line of conversation, she glanced around at the scenery flashing by. "Are you going to tell me where we're going now?"

"We're going to trade this piece of junk out for my truck. Who knows what kind of tracking methods they have on it."

"And after that?"

Another long silence filled the car, only the sound of the tires on pavement and Sam's unsteady breathing filling the space between them. "After that we're going somewhere safe. Somewhere Sam can heal and I can figure out what my next play is." And a good one it would have to be. Lilith was playing a game that had consequences that could end what little remained of the world he'd grown up in. However, with Sam, and his brain, back in action there was hope they could throw a wrench in her works.

"The Roadhouse?"

"No, V. We're going someplace even safer."

"I find it hard to believe such a place even exists."

"It does when I build it."

She left off her questioning after Dean's unexpected comment. They weren't free and clear yet. His tensed jaw and repeated looks at the mirrors behind them told her louder than if he'd shouted it to the darkening sky. Long before she thought possible they were bouncing down the dirt track toward Dean's hidden truck. It only took a few minutes of careful maneuvering to get the two vehicles swapped out between the trees. They transferred their bags into the cab then she helped Dean maneuver Sam into the extended portion of the seat on the passenger side. She knew it wouldn't be as comfortable for him as lying out in the back of the sedan but there was nothing to be done for it.

Within minutes they were on the road again, heading north. She had no idea what was going to happen in the weeks ahead, where she'd end up. But she knew both the safest and the most dangerous place would be with these two brothers. Looking past Sam's face, tight with unvoiced pain even while he slept, her gaze lingered on Dean's profile.

One more thought came to her as the sun disappeared under the horizon to leave them in a world of dark skies and white lights. No matter where they were going, it wasn't going to be boring.

************

The End … for now...

************

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR'S END NOTES: Thanks for letting me play this year, Apocalyptothon team! I had a great time, despite the horribly short deadline, and I hope this story fulfills the requestor's love of apocalypse. There will be a second story to complete this. The plot just kept growing and I knew before the second week was out this wasn't going to come to a nice, clean conclusion before posting time. Keep your fingers crossed my others stories finish in record time and I can get back to this fun universe. Thanks for reading!


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